Festival of Flowers
by Obsessed-Language-Freak
Summary: Alone in a strange land, Yao was placed under the supervision and care of its seemingly very distant Crown Prince, Kiku Honda. But like a blossoming flower, with the right conditions, everything that Yao presumes is turned upside-down. AU; Yao/Kiku.
1. Festival of Flowers I

**A/N**: Hello! This is another old AU that I've had lying around for ages, though it ended up very different from the one in my head (which was much darker). As the backstory isn't really explained, the general gist is that Yao ended up in the equivalent of Japan, and was put under the care of the Crown Prince, Kiku.

I'm also considering expanding this series to include 'Houses of Healing', 'Street of the Sun' and 'Mountains at Midnight'. Other titles may follow. The problem is that this story, 'Festival of Flowers', takes place after the first two, while it precedes 'Mountains at Midnight'. If no one is bothered by non-linear chapters, I'll upload them (when they're written!).

Disclaimer: I do not own APH.

* * *

It was mid-morning, just past the tenth hour, and as ever, Yao followed behind Kiku, forcing himself to walk at his maddeningly slow, stately pace. Not a word was said about the way he had spoken to the other the day before, and Yao wondered if he had been too forward. The look of stunned embarrassment that had graced Kiku's face lingered in his mind, a stark contrast to the dignified mask that he now wore. Slightly bored of waiting, he overtook Kiku, ignoring the guards rolling their eyes at what they considered blatant disrespect. They remained silent, however, now long accustomed to the way Kiku would gently remind them that Yao was not an attendant, but a friend, and that friends should act as equals.

Nonetheless, as Kiku reached the bottom of the stone staircase, Yao extended a hand, and Kiku very elegantly took it, placing his delicate fingertips in Yao's outstretched palm. "Your Imperial Highness," Yao teased, bowing in a very mocking, over-the-top manner.

"Now, now," Kiku said, raising his fine eyebrows, seemingly amused. "Must you, too, rise to such a level of stiffened formality?"

Yao looked at him pointedly.

Kiku did not have to think about what he meant, though he did not meet Yao's gaze. "Such is my position," he said, with the slightest of sighs. He said no more. Yao knew that, once out of earshot of the guards, he would drop his pretences and airs, and become the very normal young man who Yao spent time with every day. Granted, he was with Kiku at all times, and he was no stranger to Kiku's formality, but he still teased him about it occasionally. But behind the air of sophistication and the carefully calculated blankness, Kiku had many subtle layers, each with subsections and roots of their own.

As they walked the path that would eventually lead to the city proper, Yao took a moment to absorb the scenery. It was early spring—Kiku had turned nineteen slightly more than a month ago—and the cherry blossom trees were in full bloom, buds of rosy pink bursting against the azure sky. Tufts of green grass, peppered with sweet-smelling chrysanthemums, waxy tulips, and lofty delphiniums, grew tall and wild amongst rhododendron and hibiscus bushes; though they had not been allowed to encroach on the path. In the shorter verges, clumps of blue daisies, creamy primroses and solemn daffodils waved in the breeze. The dark trunks of the cherry blossoms, proud and great, towered above them, creating a canopy thick enough to stop Kiku having to use his parasol, but thin enough to allow the golden sunlight to filter through and reach the flowers. The gardens of the Imperial Palace really were perfect, and never failed to amaze him.

The company, too, was perfect. Kiku's small, delicate form weaved a fine pattern as he walked. For some reason, it made Yao want to hold him, as inappropriate as that was. Though he had often hinted at his feelings, Kiku had never responded either way, save with subtle eye movements that were too complex for him to interpret.

Kiku's _zouri _footwear padded along softly and patiently, creating a rhythmic uniformity. Before long, they reached the crest of the hill upon which the Imperial Palace was located. From here, one could see out across nearly the whole city, all the way to the Houses of Healing in the distance. The glittering blue of the _Shimanto_ River reflected the cloudless sky, a long and romantic trail that meandered through the countryside before finally blending into the wooded mountains in the distance. The canals that it fed shone in the same way, vibrant contrasts to the whitewashed stone of the shops bordering them and the black roofs of the residential areas. Each district of the city bustled with activity, a low murmur of quiet activity reaching their ears. Now that they were outside the protection of the trees, the wind was colder, and Kiku's clothes rippled over his small form as he shivered.

"Let's move on," Yao suggested, and Kiku nodded. They talked as they walked, and, as always, Yao found himself enjoying the high-level, educated conversation. At the same time, he found himself distracted by Kiku's expressions, which were slowly growing in diversity as they left the Palace grounds. It would not be long before he was smiling sweetly and laughing, making Yao's heart and stomach flutter in turn. Caught up in conversation and admiration, it took Yao a moment to realise that they had reached the city outskirts. It was only when Kiku hopped expertly onto a _sanban _and extended a hand for him to take that he noticed they were back on the canals.

The waterways were busy; much more so than they had looked from the Palace hill. The elderly and the burdened were being rowed to their destinations, their journeys made easier by the relative comfort of the _sanban. _Healers emerged from depots, their _sanban _laden with various herbs and medicinal plants. Kiku sculled the vessel expertly, waiting for those who had right of way, despite their stopping for his higher status. Before long, they had weaved their way to the Central Square, where the Memorial Spire towered over everything, shining in the sun. The engravings in its silver sides seemed to ripple as they moved past and steered the _sanban_ to an empty spot in the square pool around the Spire. Yao disembarked, stretching in the sun. Kiku reached over to moor the vessel, but overestimated the distance—and fell, a small, quiet cry tearing from his lips. Yao moved instinctively, catching Kiku under the shoulders. "You need to be more careful," he scolded gently, noticing—and enjoying—how Kiku turned a delightful shade of pink and became incredibly flustered. (He also noticed that Kiku's fingers had tightened slightly around his sleeves, as they might have done had they been kissing).

Trying and failing to regain his calm, Kiku tore away, stammering apologies and excuses. "I—I'm going to find an attendant," he declared loudly, trying to cover his embarrassment. Yao grinned as Kiku walked away into the bustling crowd, smiling at the rather undignified reaction that he had elicited from the other.

"Smitten," a voice said from nowhere, startling him and nearly resulting in _him _being the one who ended up in the canal. Regaining his breath, he wheeled around to see an elderly lady sitting in a _sanban, _smiling at him toothily.

"I'm—I'm sorry?" he asked, now feeling the awkwardness and humiliation that Kiku had no doubt felt moments earlier. He was aware of a hot blush growing on the top of his ears.

The lady chuckled kindly. "Smitten," she repeated, chuckling again. "That's what His Imperial Highness is. Congratulations," she added, on seeing Yao's mortified look. "You've managed to sweep Prince Kiku off his feet."

"Well, um," now that he stopped to consider it, he was actually quite concerned; for Kiku would certainly have to marry someone of his own standing and position. If it was as the lady had said, and Kiku was in love with him, his reputation could be severely compromised. For the first time, he wondered if he ought to distance himself from Kiku more. "I…"

"Don't look so distraught, sonny," she said, smiling widely and laughing away his concern. "No one thinks any worse of you—or His Highness—for it."

Demoralised, he sighed and hung his head. He would never be able to match Kiku's status, and no one in their right mind would marry into a lower social class, or even condone it. "Now, now," she said, her expression changing into a more motherly one. "I meant no harm, and I mean it—no one minds."

"Really?" he asked, feeling slightly relieved.

The woman nodded enigmatically, not going into detail, but chuckling at his restored but repressed enthusiasm. "Now," she said, clearing her throat. "If you're going to woo a Prince, you'll have to do it properly. Tell me, have you heard about the Festival of Flowers?"

* * *

"The Festival of Flowers originally celebrated the peak of summer," she said, motioning for him to sit on the strut opposite her _sanban._ Kiku had disappeared into the crowd. As a warden had already marked their boat, indicating that they had paid, Yao assumed that he was now trying to find refreshments or tea. "But because it takes place on the Solstice, it became very popular with lovers. The Solstice is the longest day of the year, you see, and so it represents eternity. Lovers began presenting their beloveds with flowers, as a way of saying 'I want to share eternity with you.' And then, on the night of the Midsummer Festival, those who received flowers return them: red if they reciprocate those feelings; white if they don't."

"So… what you're saying is that if I give Kiku a red flower on the Festival of Flowers, it's a declaration of love? And there's no way he'll confuse it with anything else?"

At these questions, she nodded. "Of course. There's no way that a Prince of this nation would misinterpret _that_, of all things. But it's a little different from that old festival now. Sometimes people wear pink flowers, to show that they're hoping for or expecting a flower. Sometimes people return blue or purple flowers, to mean that they only want to be friends with that person, or that they're more than friends but not quite lovers. And it's on this day that the Imperial Family delivers a golden Chrysanthemum to each home, as good wishes for the summer ahead."

Yao sighed. So there was still a chance that Kiku could turn him down, which would be immensely awkward. "When is it?" he asked, wondering just how long he had to pluck up his courage and overcome his nerves. The thought of actually confessing to Kiku was enough to make him feel unpleasantly giddy; shaky, even.

"Oh, not for a month-and-a-half yet," the woman responded, chuckling slightly, as though she understood his intentions. "Of course, if you want to do it the proper way, you'll have to row your way around the city, especially if you want to catch up to the Imperial Barge."

His contemplation broken, he looked at her, incredulous. How would he be able to learn to row in that time? If he was going to have anyhope of doing so, he would have to start learning immediately. It was just then that Kiku returned, bearing two steaming _nikuman_, looking slightly discomfited by the overwhelming press of the crowd. "There was a bit of a queue," Kiku said, handing the goods over to him. "I'm really sorry to have kept you waiting."

Yao watched him as he busied himself with securing the _sanban_ again. It was a secret pastime of his, to watch Kiku and engrave every movement into his memory. The fine sleeves of his silk _kimono _slipped down as he tied the mooring rope, revealing his pale and slender arms. His nimble fingers worked to deftly form a knot, and the thin bones in his hands showed through as he tightened it. He turned, saw Yao staring, and blushed. He wet his lips with his tongue, lowering his dark eyes in slight embarrassment. "I—Is something wrong?" Yao said nothing, only grinned.

He couldn't wait for the Festival of Flowers.

* * *

The sun shone over the broad lake, refracting off of the blue surface. Even now, the spring days were drawing out and growing warmer, to the point where Kiku was forced to shelter under his parasol. The heat was not yet unbearable, but it was beginning to get humid, and the cries of crickets could be heard in the rushes and reeds that encircled the southern part of the lake. Between these the fiery red and yellow spires of lupins and the waxy cerise bells of foxgloves could be seen. Beyond them, butterflies flitted from shrub to bush to flower bed. Much like the pathway to the city, the gardens were filled with all sorts of flowers and trees, and now that they were in full bloom the scents were overwhelming. Here, richly coloured peonies grew alongside reams of fragile camellia with perfect, star-like blossoms. Acers and azaleas grew tall alongside one stretch of the lake, sheltering it from view. It was in that direction that the more traditional (but no less showy) parts of the gardens lay; and beyond that, one would find the orchards and herb gardens that provided for some of the palace's refreshments.

They were on the smaller, shallower of the Imperial Gardens' lakes, seated on a guard's training _sanban. _A few days had passed since their excursion to the city, and, after being asked numerous times, Kiku had agreed to teach Yao to row; though he had been very confused as to his motives (Yao had told him that with the summer coming, it would be impossible for him to hold his parasol and row at the same time, so therefore, he needed to be able to row in his stead). From the way he had raised his eyebrows and watched him questioningly, it had been evident that Kiku had not believed him. Nevertheless, he trailed one hand in the clear water, gracefully refreshing himself in the heat of the afternoon. They had eaten a small, light lunch, and now it was time for the lesson to begin.

"Can you swim?" Kiku asked, looking perfectly serious, his obsidian eyes staring out across the water. Yao nodded, and Kiku returned the gesture absently, his hand still dipped in the pool. "Try standing up," Kiku suggested, demonstrating without rocking the _sanban _in the slightest. His lithe form and quick steps looked perfectly natural, though Yao supposed that was to be expected from someone who had grown up around water and canals. He, on the other hand, had never been heavily involved with boating or rowing. "Move quickly but precisely, against the movement of the _sanban._"

Yao rose to his feet shakily, the vessel's rocking sensation amplified by his inexperience. He felt the boat tip one way, and leant against the movement. Beneath them, the boat tilted this way and that. Water splashed onto Kiku's sleeve, and he shook his head, his fine black hair shifting over his eyebrows. "More quickly," he instructed, clutching the sides. "Actually, I want to get off first."

Once on the safety of the shore, Kiku sat down on his knees, watching from underneath his red parasol. Sending a playfully scathing look his way, Yao sat on the wooden boat, now much closer to the bank. "Stand up again," Kiku called, watching with hidden amusement. "More quickly this time."

Determined to prove Kiku's scepticism of his abilities unfounded (and, though he hesitated to admit it, to impress him), Yao stood up, this time overestimating his reach. He nearly toppled in, but managed to right himself at the last second. "You're being too forceful," Kiku called, now drinking tea that an attendant had brought him. "Don't be offended because I got off," he said, seeing straight through Yao's straight-faced act. "I can't swim very well. Especially not in these clothes," he said, smiling wearily as he lifted the sleeve of his cream-coloured _kariginu._ "Could you imagine that?"

They shared a moment of laughter at the thought. "It's odd," Yao said, staring at Kiku from afar. He paused at this thought. In all their previous conversations, he had been beside him, listening to him and his voice from a much closer position. To be this far away was disheartening. "That you can't swim well. I mean—you've lived here your whole life, and… there's no shortage of danger."

"I suppose," Kiku replied, setting the teacup down on the grass. "I think no one really expects me to swim, though. It's not very… fitting." Yao nodded in agreement. When Kiku put it like that, he had to concede that it certainly was not very becoming of a young prince.

Kiku motioned for him to stand up again. This time, he was more aware of the boat's movements—aware, but not intimidated, as he had been earlier. He stood up, finding his footing more naturally. Kiku smiled, seemingly satisfied. "That's it," he said, approaching the water's edge. "I'll get back on now." Yao took his parasol, and gently took both his hands to help him onto the _sanban._ Kiku blushed, and Yao wondered if he had not imagined the slight smile on his lips.

* * *

The lessons continued like this, in what was almost an idyll. The days were fun and filled with laughter, and they grew ever closer, to the point where Yao had very nearly slept in Kiku's lap on one of their voyages across the lake. He did not know it, but he was the envy of some serving-girls, who longed for Kiku to look their way—but more still envied Kiku, and his intimate friendship with the strange and intriguing foreigner. They went everywhere together, parting only at night, when Kiku sat in court, and at bath-times, but recently, things had become somewhat awkward between them. The gardens provided a picturesque and useful background to their adventures; with the approach of the Festival of Flowers, Yao coupled his boating lessons with amateur explorations of _hanakotoba, _intent on finding the perfect flower to give him. Kiku was all too happy to indulge this seemingly innocent quest for knowledge, and had already given him many ideas relating to the up-coming festival.

In the time he had been practising, Yao's boating skills had improved greatly. He could now row, turn, and navigate simple routes. The smaller lake now presented no challenge, and the boat no longer rocked as he sculled. He was surprised to find that it was enjoyable, though he imagined that rowing in the city's small, tightly interwoven canals would be much harder and more stressful to navigate. To prepare for that, today (with Kiku's father's permission), they had decided to take the _sanban _out onto the larger of the two lakes. As always, before the lesson began, they ate lunch on the shore. Between them, various _wagashi_ were arranged beautifully, colourful contrasts to the glazed plates and dishes. The sweet smells of _anmitsu, uirou _and _mizu youkan, _hung in the air, refreshing and enticing.

Kiku sat beside him quietly, making string figures. He was engrossed, focused nearly wholly on the golden thread that was tangled around his artful fingers. Yao watched his fourth finger snare a free piece of string and pull it to the side. The oppressive silence was making things awkward, and it irritated him. Time spent with Kiku was never a waste, but he was restless. It could be so much more. He sighed. He wanted desperately to say something—anything—but at the same time, he did not know what to say. He looked to Kiku, who was now unravelling the string from around his fingers. "Do you know Cat's Cradle?" he asked nervously, kneeling in front of Kiku and taking his soft, delicate hands gently, moving them apart. Kiku's fingers curled around his thumb, maybe instinctively. They remained like this for a long moment, with Yao kneeling over him, holding his hands. He met Kiku's dark eyes, which were wide in shock and—dare he hope it?—expectation. He would have leant in for a kiss, but in the moment it took him to decide to do so, Kiku had remembered his place, and wriggled away, silently demanding his release.

"I know it," Kiku whispered, holding out his hands and expertly completing the first few steps. Tenderly, Yao took the figure from him, feeling Kiku shiver as their hands brushed together. Yao could see down the curve of his neck as he created the basic line pattern. Together, they completed the game, not saying a word. Everything was too awkward; too intense. When they had finished, Kiku unravelled the string, putting it into the pocket in his sleeve.

Yao exhaled heavily, now closer to Kiku than could be found appropriate. Neither brought attention to it, but their little fingers were touching. "Maybe we should start," he said, rising to his feet and offering Kiku a helping hand.

"Let's not go too far out today," Kiku said quietly, his obsidian eyes watching the sky. Yao turned to see what he was looking at: in the distance, dark clouds gathered, threatening rain. The wind had picked up a little, but so far, the weather had held out. Kiku took his hand and boarded the _sanban, _handing him the oar.

This lake was significantly deeper, and it was also less clear. Yao could not make out the bottom, and the lack of sun did not help matters. Rowing in deeper water was no harder, but somehow seemed to require more strength.

"Lift the oar a little," Kiku commented, looking out over the side. "We're in deeper water, but that doesn't mean the oar has to be deeper too. Like this, the oar has to travel through more water as it comes up, you see. That's why it's harder."

"Right," he said, gritting his teeth and following Kiku's advice. It was indeed easier, and he grinned at the smiling prince. Kiku nodded at him, pleased for him. "Think I'm ready for the canals yet?" he asked, turning them round.

Kiku laughed, smiling contentedly. "Maybe we _could_ go out to the city one day," he said, considering the thought with all seriousness, which surprised him. He hadn't expected Kiku to be so open to the idea. "It wouldn't hurt, and I doubt there would be a problem. It would be good for you to practise with other boats around. After all, you make a fine oarsman," he added.

Yao blushed at the praise. "Could I be yours?" he asked, partially serious. Kiku seemed confused by his tone, and looked at him with raised eyebrows. There was, however, an amused light in his eyes, and he was possibly well aware of what Yao had meant. "Your oarsman," he reiterated, stopping his rowing and returning Kiku's gaze. "If I'm that good, I could be yours, couldn't I?"

"We'll see," he said, hesitating and not commenting further. Yao said nothing more, understanding that even though they were friends, he was treading on thin ground. Kiku had pride (and had to have it), and he had been embarrassed by Yao's straightforward hints many times in the past. There was a silence, not entirely uncomfortable, and then Kiku spoke up. "Is it me," he began, touching his hair. "Or is it raining?"

Yao looked up at the sky. He had not felt any rain, but the clouds overhead were dark and ominous. "Perhaps we should head back," he said, looking back to the bank. He was surprised to see that they had come a long way, further than they had intended, and were now very close to the centre of the lake.

"We've drifted," Kiku said, picking up an oar. "Because of the wind." Yao swallowed nervously. He had never rowed in bad weather, and it was indeed beginning to rain. The wind was picking up as well, sending the boat further into the lake. They exchanged worried glances, and Yao took the oar from him.

"We should go back," he said, and Kiku nodded. "I can row." Kiku hesitated slightly, but grudgingly conceded. In the wind and ever-increasing rain, it was hard to see, and he struggled to turn the boat around. It was rocking back and forth, but Yao did not think they were in danger of falling in yet. The heavens opened, and thunder crashed overhead. Kiku looked grim, but nodded to him as he began to row back towards the shore. The lacquered wood of the oar was slippery in the rain, however, and slipped from his grasp. It went under, before bobbing back to the surface. "I'll get it," he shouted to Kiku, who did not seem to have heard. Yao saw him reach overboard, and hastily pulled him away. "Don't be stupid," he said, pushing Kiku down onto the deck softly. As he reached for the oar in the water, the other slipped in. He reached, stretched—and fell in. As he went overboard, two things struck him: Kiku had reached for the other oar—the _fool_—and the icy sensation of the water. Then there was a splash—a heavy one—and he knew Kiku had fallen in as well.

"Kiku!" he called, swimming round the front of the boat. He saw Kiku's pale hand slip under, and gritted his teeth as he swam harder. Then Kiku's head broke the surface, and gasped for breath. He sighed in relief, but set off again immediately when Kiku started to sink.

_I can't swim very well._

_Especially not in these clothes._

The words which had been so innocent a few weeks ago now seemed terrible and foreboding. They chilled him, deeper than the lake did, but they spurred him on as well. "Kiku!" he cried out again. "Kiku!" He dived under, grabbing Kiku's hand and lifting him upwards. When Kiku was closer, he grasped him under the shoulders, kicking upwards as best he could. They surfaced, Kiku coughing and spluttering, clutching on to him tightly. "Hold on," he whispered, swimming for the shore. Kiku's father and various attendants had arrived, and that thought alone filled him with dread. Three times Kiku slipped from his hold, and three times Yao rescued him from the water. The second time it happened, Kiku did not wake up, and Yao panicked even more. The cold was in his bones now, but more than that, the thought of losing Kiku and the sight of his unconscious face was colder still. Once he was at the shore, he pushed Kiku into his father's arms, gasping for breath, and scrabbled out himself.

Immediately, attendants scrambled to take Kiku indoors. Yao saw him shivering and shaking, and then met his father's eyes. "I…"

"I knew I should have never agreed to this," Kiku's father said, an imposing figure even when sheltered by six or seven different coloured umbrellas. "You are a danger to my son!"

"Your Imperial Majesty, please, I…" he pressed his forehead and upper body to the wet ground, feeling the rain run down his back. "Please, we had no idea about the weather…"

His pleas fell on deaf ears. The Emperor turned away, effectively dismissing his attempt to explain. "Stay away from my son in the future," he warned, and walked away, leaving Yao's head pressed into the mud. Attendants helped him up, and helped him to walk away. He took one last look over his shoulder at the lake. The _sanban _still floated wildly; an oar bobbed up and down. Nearer the shore, the golden thread floated miserably, until it drifted further and further away, out of sight.

* * *

**A/N: **Part two of 'Festival of Flowers' will be uploaded when I come back from holiday (and when it's finished). Unfortunately, I won't be able to reply to reviews until then, but I will when I return!

Terms and notes:

_Zouri: _A formal type of sandal made from rice straw/plant fibres/cloth/lacquered wood, which is worn with a formal kimono. For men, the _hanao_, or thong, is often white/black, while for women, it is red.

_Shimanto:_ This refers to 四万十川 , which is also known as "The Last Clear Stream of Japan."

_Sanban: _Similar to the Chinese 舢板, of which there wasa Japanese variant – the name of which I cannot find. Therefore I have used the onyomi of the above characters to name it.

_Nikuman: _Meat (usually pork)-filled buns made from flour. They are popular from late August/early September through to early April. They were based on the Chinese 包子 bāozĭ.

_Kariginu: _Worn by male aristocrats as 'informal' or day-to-day clothing in the Heian era.

_Hanakotoba: _The language (meanings) of flowers.

_Wagashi: _Delicious-looking sweeties that I really want to try.

_Anmitsu: _Cubes of red algae/seaweed jelly, served with sweet _anko_ (red bean paste) and a variety of fruits, like peach slices, cherries, etc. Often served with a sweet black syrup, which one pours on the jelly.

_Uirou: _Subtly sweet sticky rice cakes. Popular flavours include cherry blossom, green tea, yuzu, st+rawberry, and chestnut.

_Mizu youkan: _Jellied red bean paste, agar, and sugar. Chilled, and eaten in summer.


	2. Festival of Flowers II

**A/N**: Sorry about how long it took me to finish this part, guys. I went through a period of loathing this intensely, and it was also particularly uncooperative when I got round to starting it up again. In other news, there is possible redemption for this fic. I've had a bit of luck working out a better development line (not really a plot, I guess, but still better than this): look out for _The Phoenix Prince _sometime soon. _The Phoenix Prince _is set in this world, and would feature this oneshot, but seeing as I don't know how the style/tense/person would change, I will leave this oneshot up anyway. (If this doesn't make sense, feel free to shoot me or ask. Or both.)

* * *

"Please, father!" Yao froze as he heard Kiku's voice behind the decorated _shouji _door. He could see Kiku's frame kneeling before his father, and hesitated. He had so badly wanted to apologise again, to try to explain, but Kiku's father would have none of it. Yao had suffered a cold, but had recovered more quickly than Kiku, who had been also forced to bed for several days. By the sound of his voice, he was still slightly unwell, but recovering soundly. The raspy voice he had expected was not present as he spoke to his father in desperate, urgent tones. "Yao-san meant no harm! Neither of us anticipated the storm! I also had a part to play—I…"

Yao plucked up his courage and knocked. "Excuse me," he said hesitantly, still outside. He and his father both stopped short, and there followed a hushed conversation between them. Yao only caught snatches of it; there were whispers of 'please let him in' and 'he's a bad influence' and 'he's not; he's my _friend,'_ but evidently Kiku's father relented, as an attendant opened the door to admit him. Immediately he bowed to the floor, sitting up when Kiku's father cleared his throat. The word 'friend' lingered in his mind. After all those hints, after all he had done, did Kiku still only see him as nothing more than a friend? The wound cut deep, for he wanted Kiku to be so much more. A friend was not enough. Silently he reprimanded himself for having expected and wanted more, and for worrying about it at a time like this, but it could not be helped. He _adored_ Kiku. Perhaps the festival _was_ the only way to get through to him.

"Your Imperial Majesty," he began, lowering his eyes out of not only respect, but humility and disappointment as well. "I… I wanted to apologise again, and…"

"I will speak with you when I have finished speaking with my son," the Emperor said, nodding to the same attendant. Yao left, looking over his shoulder at Kiku, whose tired black eyes were watching him in return, an unreadable expression in them. He sat outside in the waiting room of Kiku's quarters, worrying endlessly that he might never get to see Kiku again. It had been a miracle that he had been allowed to stay in the palace, and at first he had taken that as a good sign, but then he had heard that there were court sessions determining whether or not he would be allowed to stay. Kiku had been his main defendant, though he had been too ill to attend all the sessions in person. He did not know what Kiku had said, but it had evidently been enough to prevent his immediate expulsion. Twenty minutes later, the Emperor emerged, and, once again, he lowered himself to the floor.

"The Crown Prince has being saying that he had a part in this," the Emperor said, wasting no time. "And that you tried to stop him. If this is true," he said, frowning slightly. "Then I will reconsider what I said."

"With all respect," Yao began, hesitant and fearful. To be torn from Kiku at this time would be too cruel. It would be too much to bear. At the very least, he had to apologise. "That is the truth, Your Imperial Majesty. Ki—His Imperial Highness tried to reach overboard for the first oar, and I… I tried to stop him doing so. By the time I had fallen in, he was reaching for the second, and I could not stop him. His Imperial Highness' safety means a lot to me, and I would never intentionally jeopardise it. I promise that such a thing will never happen again."

The Emperor sighed, and sat back on his knees. Once again, Yao noted that he did not look like Kiku, with his less rounded face and squarer jaw. He wondered what Kiku's mother had looked like, and could only presume that Kiku resembled her. "Is that so?" he said, with a heavy sigh. "Very well."

"It is the truth, Your Imperial Majesty," he said, bowing again. The Emperor looked at him closely, as though scrutinising him. He had underestimated Kiku's relation to this man. Their eyes were the same shape, despite the other differences, and though Kiku's were darker, their stares were the same: deep and penetrating.

"Your stories match," he said, frowning in thought and closing his eyes. "And I do not think that either of you are lying. But the fact remains that the Crown Prince very nearly died, and therefore I must take _some_ measure of action. Come with me. I will talk to you both together."

Yao rose and waited until the Emperor was an acceptable distance in front before beginning to move. At the least, he was not to be separated from Kiku, nor was he to be expelled from the palace. It was a relief, to be certain, but it paled in comparison to the fact that he was not everything he had hoped to be in Kiku's eyes. The sound of their feet moving in sync over the polished wooden flooring provided a welcome distraction, until the Emperor spoke up and he tore his thoughts away from the ever-growing mire of disappointment. "Tell me, what is the nature of your relationship to the Crown Prince?" he asked, pursing his lips ever so slightly.

Stunned, Yao hesitated to respond. If Kiku considered him as only a friend, then he did not want to exaggerate their relationship. Similarly, if Kiku had indeed fallen for him, then he did not want to tell the truth, especially to Kiku's father, of all people. At least not yet. "Your Imperial Majesty?" he asked blankly, uncertain as to what to say. "I…"

"He says that you are only friends," the Emperor continued, pausing just outside Kiku's _shouji_ screen door. "Is this not the case?"

"It just is as His Imperial Highness says, Your Imperial Majesty," he said, sadly trying to accept the bitter truth. Kiku would never love him as he loved Kiku. "We are nothing more than friends."

The Emperor sighed loftily, his hand on the screen door. "Very well. But I will say this—you have a lot to learn about my son yet. He says you are only friends, but that does not mean he considers you as such. Wait here."

With that, the Emperor disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. Yao frowned, confused, thinking over what the Emperor had said. Kiku was mysterious, that much he knew, and that had been one of the things that Yao had found intriguing in the first place. He also knew that he still did not fully understand Kiku, but he was closer to the other than anybody else—Kiku himself had told him that. If he had only scratched the surface of Kiku's character, then how alone had the other been all this time?

And furthermore, what had he misunderstood? A statement like that implied he had overlooked something—but what? _He says you are only friends, but that does not mean he considers you as such. _If Kiku did not even consider him a friend… No, that was wrong. Quiet though he was, Kiku had definitely enjoyed his company. He had not imagined the happinesses that he had seen Kiku display. So it logically remained that Kiku saw him as more than a friend, but yet he had said that this was the extent of their relationship. _The trick is to tell the truth,_ he remembered Kiku saying. _But tell it in a way that leaves open the rest of the truth; the hidden part. _Slowly, all became clear. They _were_ just friends. They had not confessed to each other, kissed, or done anything that could define them as anything other than friends. Yet the nature of their relationship was a completely different matter to the way in which they considered each other. Although, for all intents and purposes, they were merely friends, they both wanted to be much more. A wide grin made its way onto his face, and had he been in a more private location, he would have jumped for joy. He was glad that he restrained himself, however, for in the next moment, the door clattered open and the Emperor's attendant summoned him inside.

"Sit," the Emperor said, motioning to a silken _zabuton _at the foot of Kiku's _futon. _He bowed low to them both, very nearly ending up with his forehead on the _shikibuton. _He felt the smooth sheets with one hand and (what he hoped was indiscreetly) moved his fingers away.

"Yao-san," Kiku said, sounding somewhat strained but pleased. "Hello." Yao smiled gently at him, returning the greeting as politely and as formally as he could. Kiku idly waved his hand back and forth, dismissing his formality. The Emperor was seated before them, watching their interactions with a sharp eye.

Yao settled his attention on Kiku's father. Kiku was doing the same, and, apparently satisfied, the Emperor began. "I believe what you have both said," he began, reiterating what he had said earlier. "But nonetheless, even if no one is to blame, it remains that the Crown Prince very nearly died. Therefore I am telling you both these things: you are not to go out onto the larger lake again; and you must also wait until the Crown Prince is completely recovered before you go out. Furthermore, when the conditions are not favourable, you are not to go outside at all. Is that clear?"

Kiku sat up and they bowed in unison to his father. Yao could have sworn that he saw the hint of a relieved smile on Kiku's lips as his forehead touched the floor, but he dare not look to confirm his suspicion. He could see the sleeves of Kiku's blue _yukata _swinging as he bent low to the floor. The soft silk slipped down, revealing the dip of his shoulder. Then the door rattled shut, leaving them alone. Kiku shifted back into the _futon,_ his _yukata_ becoming slightly loose as he did so. Yao said nothing, not wishing to draw attention to it and embarrass the other, as would no doubt have been the case had he done so. Kiku pooled the thick _kakebuton_ around the lower half of his body, remaining seated. Yao coughed subtly, red-faced, and then motioned to his chest, pulling at the lapels of his clothing. Kiku remained oblivious. He looked tired and drawn, as people so often did when they were ill. To the same end, he coughed again. "Is something wrong?" Kiku said, watching him with concern. "They said you had recovered, but…"

"It's not that," he said, blushing hard and averting his eyes. Anything was better than looking directly at him at this moment in time. He ended up counting the amount of grooves in a _tatami_ mat. "Your _yukata _is undone."

"I… what?" Kiku looked down at his clothing and turned redder, the waning illness spreading a poppy blush on his cheeks and making him seem even more embarrassed. "Eh, ah… I'm so sorry," he said, turning away and untying his slackened _obi. _He gathered his _kimono_ together more properly, trying to smooth out the folds and wrinkles. "There aren't any creases, are there?" he asked, unable to see over his shoulder.

"No, it's fine," Yao said, blushing intensely now. "There aren't any creases."

"Thank you," Kiku said, gathering it together and pinching his _obi_ at one end to make a v. "How shameful of me," he began, tying it around his waist before beginning the knot sequence. "I must have slept badly. I apologise."

"That doesn't matter. You've been ill, after all," he replied, glancing just as the shoulder of Kiku's _kimono_ slipped down. He caught a flash of pale, unblemished skin, and then it was gone; Kiku pulling his clothes tighter about him. Again, Kiku looped the simply decorated cloth around his waist, though this time it was a little off-centre. "Here," Yao said, very hesitantly edging forwards. He sat behind Kiku, on the mattress, and took Kiku's arms. "I'll do it."

Kiku's shoulder went rigidly tense. "I can dress myself, thank you," he said, hurriedly snatching the _obi_ out of Yao's hands. Yao retrieved it from him softly but firmly, and pinched the end. "This is most terribly improper," Kiku was saying in a hushed whisper, falling back on his upbringing as his shoulders went stiffer than ever before. "If my father sees us, he…"

"No one will see," Yao said confidently, but just as quietly. He circled Kiku's waist three times, ignoring the soft protests and demands for him to stop. Reaching over his shoulders, he tied the knot at the front, and gently tugged the material until it was at the back. "There," he said, moving away hastily. "Perfect." Kiku lay down, not looking at him and not thanking him. Yao had known him long enough to have worked out that he considered thanking people the same as accepting something; and for whatever reason, be it embarrassment or heightened awareness of station, Kiku had refused to accept his help. This did not mean that he was not grateful, however. That done, he picked up the _kakebuton_'s soft, thick edge, folding it over Kiku's shoulders.

"You really don't need to do all this," Kiku said, muffling a sneeze. His speech was stuffy with the remains of his cold, worsened by the sneeze. "I'm alright." Yao raised an eyebrow—very evidently he was _not _alright, and Yao draped a blanket over him for good measure. "I'm sorry if my father was hard on you," he said quietly, as though it were his fault. "He worries about me, that's all."

"Shh," Yao said, straightening the blanket around the edges. "You really need to rest," he reiterated, watching the rise and fall of Kiku's chest. The consistency and ease with which he breathed relieved him a little, and his worries lessened greatly, though his sense of responsibility did not. "I'm so sorry that this happened," he said, bowing to him formally. "If I hadn't had insisted on rowing us back…"

Kiku rolled his eyes and sighed. "Shush," he said, signalling for Yao to sit up. "You of all people don't have to bow to me like that. It was _not _your fault," he said firmly, snuggling down under the blankets. Yao watched him settle on his side so that they could see each other more clearly. "Neither of us knew it was going to get that bad, and besides," he said, smiling gently and kindly, as he always did. "You saved my life, Yao-san."

Yao sighed. Kiku really was so stubborn at the worst of times, and though it was true, he still felt terrible. It might have been true that it was not his fault, but at the very least, he wanted to redeem himself in Kiku's eyes. "At least let me make it up to you," he said, looking down at the relaxed but tired face. "I need to do that."

Kiku sighed, evidently undecided. He rolled onto his back, sighing again as he did so. His hair now splayed out on the pillow, an inky black against the white of the sheet. He closed his dark eyes, pursing his lips in slight distaste at being put in a position where he could not turn him down. "I can't say no to that," he said reluctantly. "It would be wrong of me to stop you doing what you feel you need to do. But on the same score, please don't go overboard. You help me enough as it is, and I'm already grateful for the time you spend by my side."

Yao smiled at him, waiting until he fell asleep before he reached under the covers and squeezed his small hand. Kiku was too kind, too sincere. It amazed him that nearly a year ago he had thought Kiku cold and dull, when in reality, he could not have been further from the truth.

He brushed Kiku's hair out of his eyes and lay down next to him, resting his head on the _zabuton._ He was tired too, more tired than he had realised, and felt his head dropping as he relaxed for the first time in many days. Kiku's sleeping face was the last thing he saw before he fell into a deep, warm sleep.

* * *

Two days later, Kiku had finally recovered. Determined to prove that they were responsible, and to become re-accustomed to the water, they had decided to go out on the small lake; and, determined to make good on his word and redeem himself, he was going the extra mile to please Kiku and cater to his every need or whim. Kiku found it insufferable. The weather was hot and sticky, and they walked through the gardens slowly, side by side. Kiku was trying to fan himself and hold his parasol at the same time—an unsuccessful attempt at cooling himself down that resulted only in him dropping his fan and smacking himself in the shoulder with his parasol several times. "Here," Yao said, tugging at the handle of his parasol. "Let me."

"I can handle it," Kiku said, dropping his fan for the umpteenth time.

Yao flew to pick it up, pivoting on one foot to stand before him as he handed it over. "Your Imperial Highness," he said, a playful smirk on his face. Kiku looked at him coolly, the picture of sophistication. Before Kiku could react, he stole the parasol, laughing as he dashed away. Kiku frowned, stuck. To go home sweating and sticky would be very unbecoming, but to chase after him would be even worse. Defeated, he resorted to fanning himself at double speed. Seeing he had won, Yao approached him again, holding the parasol over his head. "See? I can manage it."

Kiku sighed heavily. "So can I." He frowned frostily, but said nothing more, and let Yao carry it to where they usually sat. He was not angry, Yao could tell, but he was not pleased, either. He, however, grinned all the way there. Spoiling Kiku like this was quite enjoyable, really. When they sat down, he positioned it carefully behind Kiku, so that the sun did not burn his pale skin. Both sat by the lake, and dipped their feet in as they ate. The cool sensation of the water enlivened and refreshed them, and Yao sighed in contentment. At home, with this sort of weather, he would have spent the hour napping, but Kiku's people seemed to have no concept of resting for such a trivial thing, and worked through the stifling heat. As they ate, Yao played discreetly with the pink-tipped daisies, splitting open the stems and threading another through the narrow opening. Eventually he finished the circle off, tying a little knot in the end. Kiku was distracted, fanning himself busily and engaged in feeding the iridescent koi that inhabited the lake. Quietly, he snuck up beside him, and, hiding his amusement, he deposited it on Kiku's head, straightening it even as the other looked up at him in surprise. "Yao-san?"

"A Crown Prince needs his crown," he said, no longer smiling. He was too close to Kiku; and things were too tense between them. "And for one as delicate and as beautiful as a flower, what could be more appropriate?"

Kiku turned crimson, blushing and immediately lifting up a hand to touch his hair. "Yao-san, I…"

"Don't take it off," Yao implored him, clasping his wrist and lowering his hand to his waist. "Please."

Kiku sighed, fingering it delicately. He remained that way for a moment, and then the unreadable expression cleared, leaving him looking oddly calm. "Well then," he said, rising to his feet, not making to take the 'crown' off at all. "Are you ready, my noble oarsman? Or should I call you my parasol bearer?"

"Why not both?" he said simply, and Kiku looked away, blinking demurely. He bit his lip, seemingly thinking about saying something, but eventually he shook his head, and held his tongue.

"Tomorrow, we could go to the city, if you like," he was saying as they stepped onto the _sanban_. "While you're certainly very good on the lake, it's very different when you have to watch out for other people and navigate in a smaller area. Plus, we haven't been down for a while… There's a festival in a week or so, so it'll be interesting to see if there have been any changes…"

"The Festival of Flowers, right?" he said, sculling along the bank. On seeing Kiku's surprised look, he chuckled. That look of surprise was delightful. "I heard about it while you were off getting something one day," he explained, noticing how Kiku deflated a little and murmured a small, pathetic 'oh'. At first, Yao hoped that the other wanted to tell him himself, but then the reason for his fleetingly evident sombreness became clear.

"Then you know that I won't be able to spend the day with you?" he asked, surprising Yao and making him falter. "I'm really sorry," Kiku began, looking downcast. "It's the Imperial Family's job to deliver a golden chrysanthemum to each family, you see," he pressed his index fingers together nervously, his head bowed over his hands. "And, well…"

_And you're not part of the Imperial Family. _He looked away, struck once again by his apparently inherent inferiority. "I get it," he said, more coldly than he had intended. He knew that by now he should have become accustomed to it—Kiku had a duty to uphold and a responsibility to bear—but the thought of being out of his reach, out of even his consideration was just too much. And if he was unable to spend time with Kiku, how would he be able to give him his flower?

Kiku's dark eyes fell on him, watching him sadly. "I'm so sorry," he said in a tone that suggested he was falling once again into the mires of guilt, hanging his head as he worried over having upset him. "But I promise that as soon as father and I have finished, I'll be able to find you."

"I'm sorry too," he replied, relieved. "I didn't mean it like that." At the very least, he would be able to spend the evening by Kiku's side, and, maybe—if he could get his hands on some money—spoil him. But even though he could still present Kiku with a flower, he had yet to decide the best one to give him. At the moment, he would end up presenting Kiku with a whole bouquet, and he did not think that that was the custom.

A meek and nervous smile met his eyes, a familiar and endearing sight. When he returned it, Kiku came to stand beside him, hesitantly putting his hand on the bow. "There'll be flowers _everywhere_ soon," he said, a delighted but faraway look in his eyes. "And there are special flower teas and flower _dango _and flower _mochi…_"

"Let's go tomorrow, then," he said, eager to see it. "I must have missed it last year."

"You arrived a week after the Festival of Fireworks—that's the colloquial term for the Midsummer Festival," Kiku added, on seeing his confusion. "Then… it was a week—maybe five days?—before you were well enough to stay awake." He looked at the lake beneath the boat, distant and pensive. "Funny," he said, voice now at a whisper. "I can't remember much before that. This year…" he looked up, the ends of his black hair fluttering in the wind. "Because you were here beside me, it's gone so fast. I had a lot of fun this year."

Yao looked at his small form, which was both proud and humble at the same time. He sounded melancholy and nostalgic, but he was smiling, evidently reminiscing on the many memories they had forged. In the year that he had known Kiku, the other had bloomed, flower-like. He had grown, and he imagined that Kiku was now reflecting on the same thing, unable to comprehend how and how much he had changed. Daisy chain and hair fluttering in the wind, Kiku's eyes met his for the briefest of seconds, and then broke the gaze, preferring to look out over the lake.

Flustered, he averted his eyes. They sat in silence for a long while, Kiku caught up in his thoughts, and Yao feeling too awkward to make idle conversation. Finally he caught sight of the other, who was fanning himself and looking remarkably uncomfortable in the heat. In silence, he rowed back to shore, helped Kiku down, and together, they made their way back to the Palace. This time, Kiku let him carry his parasol without any protests—Yao suspected he was too hot to care—and they retreated quietly into the shade. He paused as they walked through the gardens, the hibiscus bush catching his eye. Its wide cerise flowers bobbed daintily in the slight breeze, the golden stamens a bright contrast, like embroidery on silk. Remembering a select piece of Kiku's many lessons on _hanakotoba, _he gently and discreetly plucked a flower from its stem. Its scent was subtle and sweet, and he inhaled it deeply. "Here," he said, attracting Kiku's attention. Unsuspecting obsidian eyes met his own, peeking out from beneath long lashes. "For you," he said, slipping it into Kiku's hair. "A delicate, gentle beauty."

It was Kiku's turn to blush. As he stepped into the palace, Yao saw him smiling. "You," he said, facing away from him as they stood in his room, wearily waving servants away before they could register the topic and its flowery evidence. "Are impossible. In a setting such as this, at least have the decency to _feign_ propriety. Sometimes I really wonder if you know what you're doing or implying," he continued, shaking his head softly, although there was a hint of light humour in his tone. "I've had oarsmen and parasol bearers before, but I've never had a scoundrel."

He grinned and Kiku raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Pleased to be of service, Your Imperial Highness."

* * *

It was a hot day as usual, and there was a calm, quiet murmur of activity inside the darkened café. Sunlight filtered through the two windows at the front of the building, but the shutters of the others were closed, leaving most of the establishment in a welcome and muted darkness. The lack of lighting was not unwelcome, for outside the sun glinted off of the Memorial Spire, spreading a prism across the canals and blinding anyone foolish enough to not look at it indirectly.

The city was bustling with preparations for the festival, and had taken on the same anticipating and expectant air as its eager inhabitants. Decorations were in the process of being put up: officially, special lines for lanterns were being stretched across the Central Plaza, thin ink strands against the canvas of the sky; coloured markers on posts were being positioned at the ends of canals; and the city shrine was beginning to prepare for the annual rush of visitors who would pay their respects to the various deities associated with the festival and, in return, pray for the necessary courage or that they might receive a flower from the person they had been longing for.

Unofficially, people had thrown gold and silver, coins, and bits of mirror into the canals. According to Kiku, after the Midsummer Festival, they would attempt to fish something out, and their finds would represent the fortune for the rest of the year. People who found gold and silver had good fortune; those who drew up coins would find their business booming; and those finding shards of mirror would receive protection from evil spirits. Only those who drew up grit or the occasional pebble would need to be concerned for their fortunes, so it seemed. Regardless of its significance, it was much appreciated by everybody, as the shimmering trinkets reflected the rays of the sun, making the canals seem to glow and sending ripples of light down the blue waterways. Now it reflected the rainbows created by the Spire, and once again Yao reflected that he truly was in the city of dreams, for he had never seen an underwater rainbow. Kiku told him that the best was still to come: soon they would be reflecting the blossoms of fireworks and the warm glow of the lanterns.

Now they sat opposite each other, waiting for a well-earnt and hard-won lunch in the cool of the café, Kiku sipping at a cup of _sencha_ while they waited for food. "Cheer up," he said, setting the cup down and pouring another. "You weren't to know that it's the _sanban _with white and red stripes that get priority, as opposed to the ones with red and white stripes. And no harm was done, either, so there's nothing to worry about."

Yao sighed and focused on the world outside the window. His first day rowing on the canals of the city had been a disaster—he had only narrowly avoided a head-on collision, managed to turn the wrong way down a crossroads, and had finally crashed into the side of a _sanban _that was supposed to have priority on the interconnecting system of waterways. No one had been hurt and nothing had been damaged, save for his pride. He sighed again, embarrassed by his failings in front of Kiku.

Kiku lowered his cup, which was still three-quarters full. "Come on," he continued. "Do you honestly think that I've never fallen off of a _sanban, _or crashed? One time I even rowed into a wall."

"You didn't," he said, looking at Kiku with the utmost disbelief. Kiku's lips twitched in a half-laugh and he nodded, confirming that he had, indeed, at the age of eleven, rowed into a wall and fallen into the canal. "Alright," he said, trying to let it ride and sipping his tea. "You win."

The proprietor, a friendly-looking older man with a protruding waistline and a snowy moustache, set a plate of unusual foods down before them, the clear chink of the delicate porcelain ringing out as it was set down on the wooden table. Kiku thanked and paid him, while Yao looked in a slowly increasing wonder at the odd selection of what were apparently confections and desserts. They did not resemble anything of Wakoku origin, consisting mostly of pastries and smelling much sweeter than the traditional desserts he had seen before.

"A long time ago, even before the war," Kiku said, holding back his sleeve as he took a slice of a thin, latticed pastry filled with cherries and plums. He gently deposited it onto another, smaller plate, and offered it to him. "Groups of explorers came here on great ships. No one really remembers the where the places they came from are located, but they are a long way away, across many oceans. With them, they brought strange clothing, weapons, and," here he paused slightly, looking at the plate. "Food.

"Because there were different groups of explorers," he explained, "we were introduced to quite a few things like this. This type of building, with a white front and stone walls, for example, came from one of those groups."

Yao looked at the strange confection with apprehension. "Is it sweet?" he asked, waiting for Kiku to help himself to a slice.

"Quite sweet," he said, taking a small bite. "But not as sweet as the other types," he added, and Yao tentatively tried it, letting the flavours linger on his tongue. The filling was fresh and natural, both sharp and sweet, and the pastry was crisp and slightly but not unpleasantly oily. "It's good, isn't it?"

He nodded, hungrier than he had realised. The dessert was interesting, and unlike anything he had ever seen at home. "What's it called?" he asked, eagerly returning for a second bite.

Kiku shook his head, his hand in front of his mouth as he finished. "In their language, I couldn't say," he said, apologising. "The records left aren't very clear, and it was unpronounceable to us. But what we call it—_rankoku-furai—_was based on the word they used_._"

Next was a sticky, firm dessert, which, seemingly innocent, was maddeningly sweet. The nuts inside were a welcome relief, alleviating the flavour just a little. He swallowed the black 'treat' down and hastily took a few mouthfuls of tea. On the other side of the table, Kiku was echoing his reaction, and they met each other's eyes. He grimaced slightly and coughed under his breath, clearing his throat and shook his head. "Too sweet," he said, and Kiku nodded in sympathy.

They finished their lunch at a leisurely pace, talking as they finished the pot of tea. To Yao's enormous gratitude, they somehow found themselves on the topic of the approaching festival. "So what sort of things do you do?" he asked, holding the door open as they left. "I mean, I won't be able to spend the day with you, and…"

"There's plenty to do," Kiku said as they set off, this time standing near the bow of the boat to aid him. "Keep to the left," he advised softly, nodding in approval as Yao successfully passed another _sanban,_ even though he crashed into the wall in his efforts to generate distance between the boats.

"Since we give out chrysanthemums in the day, though, most of the activities take place in the afternoon or evening. There's a lot of food, there are parades, dances… There are boat races, too, if you were interested."

He blinked at Kiku in surprise and barely managed to avoid bumping into the wall again. He was momentarily glad that the _sanban_ they were using was a trainer's one; if he had crashed a new, higher-level one, he would have had to pay for it, and he had not a penny to his name. "Do you think I'm good enough?" he asked, feeling a slight spark of pride as Kiku nodded easily, without hesitation.

"I'd cover the entrance fee, if that was what you wanted," Kiku said, ignoring his instant protests. Now that he thought about it, Kiku was always paying for his share, too, and though that was not necessarily wrong, Yao felt unequal to him. He remembered the delight of giving someone something tangible and physical—memories were nice, but so was something physical, a constant reminder. "There are monetary prizes for winning, so if you're _that _caught up about it—and I can assure you that you really shouldn't be—then you can pay me back. There are two types of races—one where lots of people row down the Central Canal at once, and another where contestants take equally long but different routes to a destination. What do you think?"

He considered briefly, weighing up the problems he would face in each. Rowing down the Central Canal – the widest canal in the city – would be very simple; very direct. Given that it ran in a straight line, he would be able to work up a good speed, but on the other hand, he could be nearer the walls or struggle with the competition. Rowing alone might prove an advantage, but then he would have to navigate through the city, a feat which was currently not proving very feasible. "I'm not sure," he said finally, and hesitated. The Festival of Flowers was only four days away, and he still did not know if he should give Kiku something. He could already imagine the look of displeased impatience thinning Kiku's lips and furrowing his eyebrows. On the other hand, he suspected that Kiku would not actually be rejecting him because he did not share the same feelings, and that might hurt them both more. For those reasons, ought he to ask about giving flowers? Given that he had barely been discreet in trying to communicate his feelings to the other, doing so would leave Kiku in no doubt about his feelings, something that he found inappropriate at this time. On the other hand, who else did he have to ask? Kiku's father? He shook his head. That was inconceivable. An attendant, maybe?

He took a deep breath, plucked up all his courage, and threw in a prayer to his ancestors for good luck, and began to speak. "If I wanted to give…" he trailed off, silenced by Kiku's attentive, wide-eyed look. His palms were sweating; his throat was dry. This was impossible. But there Kiku was, waiting for the rest of his question. "…If I wanted to give it a shot, could I?"

As Kiku answered, he gazed down at the clear water and inwardly cursed his own cowardice. Even though it had probably been better that he had not asked, if he could not do something as simple as that, how would he ever find the courage for the festival itself? A heaviness settled upon him, and he realised that it was the pressure of expectation, and the dread of losing to himself.

* * *

_Shouji _= paper doors held together with bamboo.

_Zabuton = _a (usually square) sitting cushion that sometimes has a back and an armrest.

_Futon _= traditional Japanese bed consisting of padded mattresses and quilts. The _shikibuton_ is the mattress, and the duvet is called _kakebuton._ The pillow, which is often filled with beans/beads/buckwheat chaff, is called _makura._

_Yukata_ = a _kimono_ worn after bathing. It is nowadays sometimes used as pyjamas, especially in summer. (Also because I couldn't find sleepwear, Kiku is stuck with this).

_Tatami _mat = mats in a traditional Japanese _washitsu_ room. Traditionally made of rice straw and covered with straw made from rushes. Originally they were used as seating for only very high-ranked nobles.

_Obi_ = the sash/belt about the middle of a _kimono._

_Dango _= Similar to _mochi, dango _are balls of rice flour with different flavours.

_Mochi _= balls of rice flour with different flavoured pastes on the inside. Very delicious!

Hibiscus is said to mean 'gentle' in Japanese _hanakotoba, _and a rare or delicate beauty in other contexts of 'flower meanings'.

_Wakoku _= an old name for Japan, before it became known as 'Sun Origin.' While this may or may not reflect the original name in history, I have used the symbols 和国- harmony country. 倭国may be the actual name used in history. (If anyone knows anything concrete, please let me know!)

_Sencha_ = a type of green tea, considered less formal than _matcha._

The groups of explorers refer to the Dutch, the Portuguese, who visited Japan in the 1600s and the 1500s respectively. They left behind words, Christianity, and food; and so, I have expanded this to include pastries. Yao and Kiku consider them overly sweet because, in general, western food is a lot more sugary. The two referred to in this chapter are, in order of appearance:

_Limburgse Vlaai_ = a Dutch tart consisting of a lattice pastry top and a filling. The fillings include fruits, a sweet buttery mix, and a rice and custard porridge. It is quite thin. Kiku calls it _rangoku-furai_ because '_furai' _is based on the pronunciation of '_vlaai,' _and '_rankoku' _is a name for Holland (whether or not it is made-up I'm not sure). If it is made up, my justification is this: Holland was originally called 阿蘭陀 _oranda. _When the Dutch came to Japan, the study of the books they brought with them begun. This study was called 蘭学 _rangaku _– and from this, I've taken 蘭 _ran_ and combined it with 'country' 国 _kuni. _

_Bolo de mel_ = a cake originating from the Madeira Islands. It is traditionally made from molasses, and has walnuts and almonds inside. It is firm but not hard in texture, and because of the molasses, it takes on a dark colour.

(Also, I forgot to mention this earlier, but the reason why there aren't _one sanban, two sanbans, _etc., is because Japanese does not use plurals).


	3. Festival of Flowers III

**A/N: **Well, it's finally over (thank goodness). This has been a long struggle, so thanks for sticking with me, guys.

To the wonderful DementedTrees: If you're reading this, I'd really like to thank you for your lovely review. It meant an awful lot to me; and you gave me a little bit of faith in this story. Thank you also for your information on 和国 and 倭国! (The deciding factor was actually my online Japanese-English dictionary; which used和英 rather than 倭英.)

* * *

"Three…!"

He stood at the front of the _sanban_, an oar in each hand. The sun shone high over the city, at the very tip of the Memorial Spire. The entire Central Plaza was ablaze with flowers: wreaths of waxy white lilies surrounded the Spire's base, eternally ethereal and reflective of the Memorial Spire's commemorational purpose; carnations and azalea blossoms filled suspended pots and baskets, statements of colour against the endless blue skies; in the canal, petals of flowers too numerous to list floated as if by magic.

The Festival of Flowers was well and truly underway; as its name suggested, flowers were well and truly abundant (Yao reflected that Kiku had truly not been exaggerating), so much so that they overpowered even the many tempting smells of street food, and to an extent, reinforced it, as some of the food was flower-based as well. Music struggled to compete with the lively chatter of the eager populace, and the linesmen and referees for the first boat race were having a hard time being heard.

"Two…!"

He had had an early start, rising at dawn with the majority of the palace staff. Along with various attendants, he had only managed a short-lived resentment at the necessary preparations, as the excitement and anticipation of the festival overtook him. He had only seen Kiku briefly; as the other was leaving to attend the required prayers at the Shrine. He had smiled softly and waved, swamped in a heavy, many-layered ceremonial robe. His _kanmuri_ hat, decorated with the chrysanthemums from which he took his name, was securely fasted under his chin, and it seemed odd to Yao that he had an extra head of height.

His robes had shimmered in the lantern light, the embroidered golden patterns shining more brightly in the lamplight. Underneath, the necks of the layered white _shitagasane _and vermillion _akome _accentuated the impression of warmth. The colours and the gold stitching made it look as though he was the sunrise itself. "I'll see you later," he had said, meeting his eye for the briefest of seconds. "Do your best in the races, okay?"

The extensive white train of his robes had slowly trailed after him, much like the faithful attendant that Yao longed to be, as he descended the palace steps and followed his father. Yao had watched him go with adoration and reinforced realisation that Kiku would one day have to rule. Personally, he did not think that Kiku was ready for that—he was still struggling to rule himself, though he had progressed so very much: one year ago he had been almost totally closed to the world, now he was beginning to move in it. Like the flowers that surrounded him, he had reached a peak; he had bloomed. Yao felt an odd sense of pride at having been its sole witness; not even Kiku's father had observed the changes.

In the end, he had never asked about giving flowers.

"One!"

He changed his grip on the oars at the last minute, making them more comfortable in his hands. The final of the free-for-all _sanban _races was beginning, and though he had sailed comfortably through the heats, he was still surprised about having passed. The semis had been markedly more difficult, and if he was honest with himself he did not expect to win. But he had his pride, and he was not going to give up. He felt the _sanban_ move slightly and moved with it, a strange but peaceful confidence overcoming him.

"Start!"

There was bedlam as the ten or so _sanban _all took off at once: two people's boats collided and they turned to blows, obviously drunk (and if not on alcohol then the spirit of the moment—although the people of Wakoku were rarely drunk before evening, this was a festival, and so a chance to relax); one man fell overboard and surfaced again, only to have to duck as the melee of oars came at him in an onslaught. In the distance a child had stolen the linesman's flag, and had proceeded to run down the Canal's parapets, away from the competitors, and a party of boys on the bridge had taken to throwing either coins or tokens in encouragement (which all too frequently ended up embedded in their favourite's clothing or—if they were very unlucky—struck their bare skin) or stones and overripe fruits in depreciation. As a foreigner, Yao was mostly left alone, again presented with the odd conundrum that seemed so common amongst the people of Wakoku—they were all in reality very interested in him, and his lifestyle, and background; and yet on the surface seemed to feel themselves firmly superior.

The rower in front of him was using a decidedly dirty tactic: sculling directly in his way so that he could not pass or overtake. He held back, waiting for the right moment, which presented itself shortly thereafter. Another _sanban, _rowed by someone who Yao had marked as very strong competition, expertly weaved past in a way that would probably require another two years of training. The scheming sculler bumped into the sides of the competition, and the other man retaliated in the same manner, leaving him with an opening. He took it as quickly as possible, feeling the intense need to take a breath as he levelled with and overtook the person in fourth place. _Sixty metres…_ But he was incapable of working up any more speed, and it was all he could do to maintain his place in fourth. To his immense surprise, however, the third place contestant fell back, gasping for breath and looking sportingly disappointed. "Well done," he offered as Yao sculled past, and Yao bowed to him quickly, now working automatically. _Twenty metres…_

Relief coursed through him as he passed the finish line. He dropped the oars and felt the fire slowly subside from his arms and chest. Then he was lifted up and off of the _sanban, _and onto the bridge with the other two leaders. _Third. I came third._

Across the square, he could see the Imperial Barge and the blue uniform of the guards surrounding the Emperor and Kiku. Kiku, shorter than the others, could barely be seen, but Yao caught a glimpse of him looking, perhaps wondering who had won. Then he was whisked away with the crowd, a bag of coins being pressed into one hand and a bottle of sake into the other. Grinning, he took a celebratory sip, feeling the warm liquid settle in his stomach. He was making his way across the Central Plaza, giddy on victory, heart swelling with the anticipation that Kiku might be proud.

_Odd,_ he thought, mental restrictions very slightly lessened by the bottle of strong alcohol that was steadily and sadly depleting. _When did I start living so that he might notice? So that he might be with me, and stay by my side? What did I live for before I lived for him?_

He had settled on a confusing but strangely pleasing conundrum as he selected his route for the so-called freestyle _sanban_ race. Searching for meaning as people often did, he decided that before living for Kiku, he had been living so that he could live for Kiku in the future. The other had slowly and inconspicuously made his way to the forefront of Yao's thinking, and had very simply decided to remain there, as though there was no problem with that in the slightest.

The plaza was full of merchandise and stalls, with lively craftsmen dressed in flowery costumes engaged in chatter and cheerful banter. Although flowers were the main attraction, of course, they were not sold on the Central Plaza; souvenirs and food took their place, and would do so until the celebrations stopped later that night, though the bazaar had not yet reached its peak. Certainly there would be more food in the evening, and more activities, too. Now, however, flower-shaped ornaments for women's hair and clothing were displayed on one stall, red and gold pins that caught the light and glittered in the sun. He briefly considered getting one for Kiku, but the other's hair was not long enough and he might consider it too feminine. Furthermore, Kiku probably had hundreds of pins and ribbons lying around, and ones more exquisite than this at that. He wondered briefly if Kiku would grow his hair out; it had been getting long as of late, much to his curious anticipation.

Several stalls dealt in toys: there were varnished wooden spinning-tops, painted with flowers or decorated with stripes; miniature clay models of animals, boats, and buildings that had wonderfully charming and innocent details. Hand-painted _kokeshi _and _kimekomi_ dolls were the delights of little girls, while little boys eyed small figurines of _samurai _and tried to not pester their parents for too many. Those lucky enough to receive them set about playing with immediately, reconstructing ancient battles and fictional conflicts and inevitably breaking a few in the process. Packs of _hanafuda_, displayed and arranged neatly, showed the month's flower to the admiring audience—the peony: his flower.

His eyes travelled upwards; attracted by pretty and simply decorated wind chimes. Generally, the glass domes from which the bells hung were clear, with a painted design (many pictured various flowers, in touch with the festival's main theme), though there were a few ones with coloured glass. Dyed strings attached small bells both directly above the domes and below their openings. Brightly coloured cards, beautiful in both design and execution, hung at the end, flapping in the wind. Two in particular caught his eye, one portraying blue dragonflies, the other portraying glowing fireflies. Both had been painted with the utmost care, beautiful and exquisite. He was more drawn to the dragonfly chime, not only for its design, but also for its symbolism: while fireflies indicated a strong, passionate love, dragonflies indicated happiness, courage, and strength.

When he thought of Kiku, what was it that he really wanted to give him? He would already be giving Kiku something representing love later, and even if he gave him everything that did so, he would not be satisfied until Kiku was happy—happy and well, and able to face his future. Only when Kiku was content would Yao be fulfilled. He made to take it, then realised that there was some possibility of it getting damaged or lost in the second boat race. He did not want to leave purchasing it to chance, either, as it might have vanished by the time he had finished, snapped up by another man eager to court his beloved.

"Excuse me," he said, attracting the shopkeeper's attention. The tall man turned and bowed a welcome. "I'd like to buy this one," he said, pointing it out and admiring it as the man retrieved it and gently displayed it before him. "Would you be able to hold onto it for me?" he asked, counting out the relevant price. "I'm entering the boat race, and I don't want it lost. It's for someone very important."

"Of course," the man said, wrapping it in delicate paper. "If you could just write your name, sir, so we know who it belongs to…"

He found his name-stamp in his pocket and stamped it on the gift's wrapping. He was still not entirely accustomed to writing in the language of Wakoku; while the language was similar to his own mother-tongue, a remnant from the days of trade and cultural exchanges between the two countries, there were many differences, the largest of which being Wakoku's use of not one, but _two_ alphabets (Kiku had therefore had had a name stamp carved for him, which he could use instead of writing). Although at first he had thought he would never be able to understand it, the rushed education and the baptism by fire that he had undergone in his first few months in the country had stayed with him, and proved very fruitful. Briefly he recalled his life before this nation, of how fraught with worry it had been—worries that his parents would get caught up in the war, worries that his sisters would die; worries that had eventually all come true. Kiku was all that was left for him now. Was that all he was, though? Someone to replace the people he had lost? No, that wasn't it: replacing his parents was impossible, and Kiku played more roles than that. Kiku was someone who had restored him, allowed him to nurture and protect, and who had loved him through it all. Kiku was all he had left at the moment, but he was precious, and more special than Yao could ever hope to realise.

Thanking the stall's attendant, he left, still admiring the myriad of souvenirs and gifts. Closer to the Memorial Spire, a staged area was being cornered off by the quietly animated apprentices of the city's firework masters. Before night fell, it would be used by actors, dancers, and musicians, but after dark would become the base of operations for a fireworks extravaganza. Originally Yao had thought that this would render the Festival of Fireworks redundant, but he had come to recognise that this city always had something more up its sleeve. A very enthusiastic and excited Kiku had told him that while the Festival of Flowers offered a simple firework display, the Festival of Fireworks was a full-blown competition between the three top schools of the art, as masters and apprentices struggled to be recognised as the best in their field. The fireworks for that festival would be much grander, much more elaborate, and true works of art.

In the streets adjoining the Central Plaza there were stalls selling food: again, these would expand and grow in number later in the day—as Kiku had said, the majority of people were still awaiting the visitation of the Royal Family, and the festival would really kick off later into the afternoon. But nonetheless, the delicious smells of _agemochi _and_ takoyaki _filled the air, leading hungry townspeople to wait their turn for the delicious delicacies. Not yet ready for lunch, partially due to the relatively early hour at which the food was being served, partially due to the nerves he had been experiencing all day, Yao passed up the food for the time being, deciding instead to concentrate on the upcoming race.

Each candidate was given a different route to the same destination, which in this case was the Central Plaza itself (though they had to travel around the city in obscure directions to return there). Although each route was the same distance, the candidates were led around in paths that did not conflict with each other. His route was not a good one, involving many twists and turns and going past buildings he had never heard of. To make matters worse, he, like all the other contestants, would have to collect five tokens with a certain design on them, to prove that he had followed his route and not simply chosen any old way to the common destination. Uncertain of his knowledge of the city, he set about trying to memorise his route, remembering it in terms of lefts, rights, and straight-ons. Being able to remember it all seemed unlikely, and he did not think he would be able to ask passers-by for directions. Soon a bell would ring out, summoning all participants to their respective starting places. The anticipation of pressure and competition made him panic slightly, as though he were cramming in last-minute revision for an exam. He drank the last of the sake in an attempt to settle his nerves, and retraced his route with his forefinger.

_Two rights, then straight ahead for three junctions… left, then right again, another left… _He sighed and gave up. He would be allowed to take the directions with him, so it was not too bad, but he had hoped to compensate for his poor knowledge of the city by memorising his route and getting something of a head start. Again and again he repeated the directions, like a mantra. Then, some indeterminate time later (but it felt too short regardless), the bell rang out, a loud _bong_ sounding over the canals and the Central Plaza. He returned to his starting position, climbing into the provided _sanban _and taking up the oars. Around the Central Plaza supervisors signalled to each other, waving over the crowd. From what Yao gathered, they were still waiting for a few contestants to arrive, but within a few minutes, they had arrived. While he waited for the starting bell, Yao recited the scant few directions he had memorised, hoping they would stay with him. Then the starting bell rang out—_bong_—and the officials gave each other once last signal, and then they were off.

He rowed according to his instructions, occasionally double-checking them to ensure he was following the correct route. The markers he had to collect were depicted on the map, indicated by the numbers one to five, written just above the relevant part of the route. He was to collect tokens depicting camellia blossoms, and was reminded briefly of the Imperial gardens. The first one hung from the hook of a marker erected at the side of the canal, and he awkwardly and clumsily moved to the side before collecting the small wooden disc. Here he stopped and checked his directions; and sculled accordingly. Then, out of the blue, a voice broke through his concentration: "Halt!"

He looked up, stunned to find himself face to face with the Imperial Barge, a beautifully ornate black _sanban_ with embellished golden chrysanthemums. A guard lowered a long pole that was used for preventing the barge from hitting the sides or other boats—or, Yao thought, belatedly, to stop other boats hitting it. He stopped his _sanban, _and from his position, saw the Emperor looking at him with no readable expression. Then he turned, presumably to Kiku, and said something to the same guard, who motioned for him to come forward. He rowed warily to their position, upon which the guards shifted apart and Kiku stepped forwards."

"Hello," he said, bowing slightly. "I heard that you were quite successful," he remarked, looking pointedly at the sack behind him on the deck of his vessel. "Well done," he said, smiling at Yao's enthusiastic reaction. Then he reached behind him, and extended a golden chrysanthemum to him. "Here," he said, bowing slightly. "Father said you should have one."

It took Yao a second to realise that the gesture was more symbolic than it first seemed; in a way, this symbolised acceptance, the Emperor's recognition of his place in Kiku's life. As he thanked both Crown Prince and Emperor several times, he failed to notice that they were being observed.

Had he been in Kiku's father's position, he would have noticed the way Kiku stood to attention, aching to be noticed. He would have noticed how his own voice changed, from guarded and occasionally clipped to free and flowing and warm. The Emperor, however, was the sole conscious witness to their exchange, and noticed all these things and more: how they seemed so much like a couple, how recipient Kiku was to Yao. They did not interact like friends or simple companions, but instead seemed to emulate a couple so strongly in love that it reminded him of the bond he had shared with his late wife.

It was in that instant that the Emperor of Wakoku knew that his son would be returning home treasuring a red flower that night, even before either of the two knew that it would definitely come to pass.

* * *

As it happened, Yao did not do particularly well in the second race. Other than being slightly held up by Kiku and his family, he took a wrong turning, and he had spent a good ten minutes continuing with his misinterpreted directions before he found that there was not a token in the designated place and realised his mistake. Consequently he had come eleventh, winning nothing. He had collected the remnants of his prize, and stopped by the plaza to pick up his gift to Kiku. This he had given to a guard he knew quite well, and begged them to leave it in Kiku's room, along with a hastily-written note, so that it was a surprise. The guard, perhaps aware of his infatuation with Kiku, had agreed, and promised to leave it in a very obvious place.

Afterwards, he had gone to the street where the flowers were being sold: they were sorted by type, and then by colour, so there were stalls upon stalls of camellia blossoms, and further down stands bearing dahlias, the red petals slightly similar to fireworks; with an orange burst extending towards their tips. Morning glories, zinnias, azaleas and peonies had all filled wooden displays. Yao had been overwhelmed and spoilt for choice, to the point where he did not know which flower was best to buy. He thought about buying many and assembling a bouquet, but he often saw recipients wearing their flowers in their hair, and reflected that a bouquet was not feasible. Generally, however, people tended to buy any sort of flower, and twist its meaning to suit their confession or proposal. Witnessing this, he realised he had spent so long worrying about the flower that he had neglected to consider what to say to Kiku or how to give it to him.

He had ended up considering a carnation—a flower not native to Wakoku but introduced by the overseas traders from long ago, and one which emulated fascination, distinction, and love; a very beautiful variety of camellia, meaning love; a peony, meaning bravery, but more importantly, representing himself; and morning glories, which represented promises one intended to make good on. In the end, he had chosen a crimson carnation, carefully picking it out from its scarlet brothers, selecting it for its pleated edges and silky petals.

Now, as he stood with Kiku, watching a humorous _kyougen _play (about a man whose wife, backed by women of the village, cut off his beard, which he had fortified and strengthened), he sighed in relief, for he was beginning to feel that his choice had been the right one. They stood inconspicuously in the centre of the crowd, laughing at the melodramatic antics along with the rest of the citizens. "_Kyougen_ can be so silly," Kiku said, covering his face with his sleeve as he laughed. He was dressed in an orange _hitatare, _one slightly more elaborate than its regular counterpart in that it had very faint patterns embroidered on it, in an attempt to blend in and relax for a while. This, he told Yao, he tended to do on most festival days, though he suspected his father knew more about it than he let on. Nonetheless, there was no guard watching or following them: Kiku and his father were much loved by the population, and were probably just as safe in the city as they were in their Palace.

"Am I missing something?" he asked, very confused by the play and its strange humour. He assumed it was some sort of linguistic barrier that he could not yet surpass, but Kiku assured him that he was not misunderstanding or misinterpreting anything. "Then yes," he added, stunned as the 'wife' of the story (all _kyougen_ actors were men, regardless of role), reached up, and pulled off a very obviously fake beard. "It's silly."

They left with the other members of the dispersing crowd, and Yao registered the encroaching twilight with a mixture of both excitement and dread. It was early evening, and soon people would be exchanging flowers, and he was nervous. The skies were clear and promised a clear night, so that the stars would shine between the unfolding fireworks. It was cooler, however, and given that it had been a hot day, the slightly cooler temperatures were welcome, even if the humidity remained. Now the streets were just as busy, but with food vendors and flower-sellers, and children playing with bursts of fallen petals while their mothers looked on nearby. Kiku and Yao walked down the thoroughfare, revelling in the sights and smells. They bought _kakigouri _from a street vendor who shaved the ice with a machine with a metal crank and sweetened it with crushed cherries, and sat with their feet dipped into one of the canals, taking it in turns to eat small mouthfuls with the tiny spoon. Was now a good time to give Kiku the flower, while they sat in silence and simply enjoyed each other's presence, or talked about simplistic, charming things, like the way the sky was beginning to turn a pale teal?

Then all of a sudden a _sanban_ sculled past, the two people positioned at the port and starboard sides bearing tapered poles that were burning at the end. "Oh!" Kiku said, lighting up in delight, "they're lighting the lanterns!"

One by one, globes of gently glowing gold appeared in the evening light, their warm impressions creating or amplifying the buzz and warm yet distant enclosure of happy activity. They shone reflected in the canal, as though there was underneath them a whole other world, sharing the same festival and crafting the same sights. It was romantic, in a way, and their hands met as they both attempted to pick up the bowl previously filled with _kakigouri _at the same time.

"Oh," Kiku said, and it would only be later that Yao reflected that he said it in such a way that did not indicate apology, but realisation. And then, as if to disguise it, he followed it up with a signature bow. "Excuse me."

They returned the bowl to the vendor, whereupon Kiku spotted a stall selling _dango._ Yao had had them once or twice before, at other festivals, but apparently Kiku had forgotten this (or, Yao mused, neglected to remember it, as any excuse to have the sweet treats was acceptable in Kiku's books). "Here," Kiku said, returning with skewers of _bocchan dango _and_ goma dango, _eagerly offering him some. He fought to pay Kiku back, but was refused, with a not-so subtle frown that indicated that he did not want or need to be reimbursed. _What about now? _Yao wondered, feeling the pretty flower's petals for comfort. _He's distracted, so he won't notice fully, but this isn't right; not now._

This was to be how the evening progressed: they ate and watched the festivities proceed, strolling along at a leisurely pace and talking the time away. Kiku would ask questions about his homeland, taking care to be sensitive and kind, evidently still aware of how much Yao missed his family. Yao discovered that he could easily make Kiku laugh, and so set to amusing him, playing up to his role as scoundrel. He would walk along the parapets of the canals, showing off, trying to get Kiku's attention. Kiku, ever a fast-learner, soon established that the best way to discourage this behaviour was to ignore it, leaving him deflated and annoyed, while easily securing a way out of Kiku's public embarrassment, most of which was second-hand.

When_, _he wondered, would the right moment arise? Afraid that Kiku would guess he was planning to give him a flower, Yao avoided words and resorted to small physical displays of affection: Kiku would hand him one of the cubes of _warabimochi _that he had just bought, and Yao would allow his hands to linger on Kiku's skin, feeling and revelling in its delicate smoothness. As Kiku conversed and dealt with a vendor selling sweet and chewy _amanattou _and enticing _yatsuhashi _that covered small helpings of red bean paste, he would move dangerously close to Kiku and peek over his shoulder, pretending to be interested in the things he was purchasing. Kiku was alarmed by this, and moved away a little, but Yao remained fixed on the food, until he felt it safe to sneak a peek at the profile of Kiku's face. Then, feeling guilty, and seeking to redeem himself, he decided to actually focus on the food, and happily purchased two _imagawayaki, _one each. Kiku smiled at this, seemingly having forgiven him, but not missing the hesitant grin he received in return.

"You're acting strange," Kiku commented as they walked back to the Central Plaza, where the fireworks would soon be set off. Couples stood side by side on the square, and Yao noted with slight anxiety that most people had already given their flowers, for their partners were wearing them in their hair.

He swallowed and shifted from side to side, tense. "D-Do you think so?" he said, voice wavering. The plaza was filling up; they were not alone or largely invisible to others—now how could he give Kiku the flower without drawing attention to them both?

"Yao-san? Are you alright? You're shaking." Kiku hesitantly peeked up at him, and he had to take a deep, calming breath and close his eyes before nodding.

"I'm alright," he said, trying to smile and knowing it had come across as looking forced. "Just a bit… tired, I suppose." Kiku made no secret of not being convinced, but let the matter slide, his hands falling slowly to his sides and his eyes casting down at the floor. "You know," he said, "I'm glad I got to come here. Even though I didn't really have the choice, and even though I left behind and lost so much…" He paused, and noticed that Kiku was looking at him, giving him his full attention. "I did meet you."

"I wonder what our lives would be like had we never met," Kiku said, falling into quiet reflection. Then he spoke up again, voice wavering. "I-I don't think I should like that very much," he admitted, the deep-set fear only evident in that slight tremulous waver. He trailed off there, but Yao could almost hear the things he had left unsaid. _I can't imagine life without you. It's you who has made me whole again._

He smiled at Kiku in the lamplight, watching the way the shadows danced on his face. "Nor would I," he said, reminded again of how he had discovered a deep kindness beneath the initial mysterious exterior, and the fierce protectiveness that had grown over time.

Presently, a stir arose in the crowd, and they looked up, distracted. Aware that the fireworks were about to start, they waited in anticipation, exchanging excited glances. Then there was a hiss, and an eerie call sounded as the firework shot into the air, and a ripple of sound and colour as it blossomed on the sky. Red and orange bursts of light, backed by the stars, provided the first spectacle of the evening, and Yao stole a glance at the canal, where the colours shimmered, reflecting on the waters and the coins at the bottom.

Shot after shot was fired into the sky, the fireworks growing in complexity. At first they were simple bursts of coloured light, but then they changed shape and intensity: blazing white trails, long and thin, resembled the petals of a chrysanthemum; a shimmering effect created the petals of forget-me-nots; and, slowly, a dahlia erupted in the sky, white in the centre, and red at the outside, with streaks of pink and orange blending them. Deep rumbles echoed in the sky and his ears and his lungs, and Yao gasped in admiration along with the rest of the crowd, quickly tearing his eyes away to look at Kiku's face. He was enraptured, lips slightly parted in enthusiasm, the stars and the fireworks reflecting in his eyes. No matter how he tried, he was unable to look away, adoration and, fittingly, fascination overcoming him. Kiku blinked, turned, and caught him staring. They laughed once, shyly, and Kiku turned away a little, seemingly fretting over something, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised in what could have been excitement or fear.

The finale of the display was upon them; oranges and pinks filled the whole sky, and as white tendrils shot forth and crimson bursts rocketed around them, he took the flower from his sleeve, and sought out Kiku's hand. Gently, longingly, their hands intertwined, and he saw Kiku look down to gasp at the flower between them. Yao shut his eyes, heart racing, hearing the clamour around them, feeling the last of the fireworks die out, smelling the smoke and the tangy scent of gunpowder, and, above all, registering the sensation of Kiku's skin against his own. People were moving around them, commenting on the fireworks, praising the festival's end. They stood frozen, in a time of their own, where they were immortal and where the stars would never go out. Finally, Kiku breathed.

"I'd say something," Yao said, opening his eyes, and turning to stand before him. "I'd say something, except—I can't quite find the words, or I don't know them, and I don't think they'd be enough anyway. Just… please know that I'm sincere, and that even if you don't return my feelings, at least let me carry on caring for you."

He prised the carnation from Kiku's uncooperative hands, and shakily slid it into his hair. Trembling, breathing heavily and trying to wet his lips and mouth, he stepped closer to him. "I love you."

* * *

Once alone in his room, Kiku sank to his knees, completely dumbstruck, the red flower still in his hair. Fortunately, no one had seen it, and he had managed to return to his room undetected. He had sent Yao away, though the other had not taken kindly to the news that he would still have to wait three days for his reply, and that they were not allowed to see each other during this time. Kiku had not told him about this custom purely for the reason that he had not been expecting to receive a flower.

_Crazy. _

_He's got to be mad. I was right when I called him a scoundrel; who else would even contemplate giving me a flower? _He tugged at his hair. _He's a hare-brained, infuriatingly charming, unrelenting scoundrel._

_And you love him, don't you? _A small voice in his head whispered; its presence completely unexpected. He stopped short, debilitated by that thought and the sudden crushing pain in his chest that accompanied it. In the end, he chose to ignore it.

_I suppose I expected it, in a way. What I mean is that it didn't entirely come as a surprise: the signs were there, and… _Trembling and shaking, he removed the flower from his hair and looked down at it, as though it were too precious for him to be allowed to hold. He held it to his heart, taking breaths to steady himself. There was no use denying it—he would be lying if he said he was not happy.

But, he thought, it presented as many problems as it did jubilations. Should he tell his father? If so, how should he tell him? And how should he reply? How did he _want_ to reply?

_It may all be just a joke, _a small part of him thought. He reached out to touch the flower's ruffled petals, remembering the feel of Yao's hand as it brushed against his hair. He shook his head. _But… I do think he was serious. I've never seen him scared before._

Overwhelmed, he took a deep breath and set the flower down on the table in front of him. The red carnation sat there innocently, the source of all his troubles, unrepentant. It was then that he noticed the small box. It was addressed to him, from Yao, and he opened it curiously, lighting up when he saw the wind chime inside. Though it was very ordinary, he loved it dearly, all the more so for its simplicity and kindness.

That settled it: Yao had most definitely been sincere. He loved him. _Yao _loved him. Kind, hesitant, charming, wonderful _Yao._ That thought alone shook Kiku to the core, and he felt happiness and relief and fear all at once—he was loved, loved in return, and this, in a way, frightened him, not only for all the doubts relating to honour and politics and station, but also deeply, emotionally. If he changed, would Yao stop loving him? What if he didn't change? Would the same happen then? Love provided security, to be sure, but also created a profound insecurity, a fear that he might be left behind.

He looked at his gifts and felt his heart swell with adoration. The meanings and complexities Yao had tried to put into them did not escape him, and he touched each one tenderly, reminding himself to thank Yao in three days' time with all the sincerity he could muster. And it was there that he came crashing back down to reality. _I… I can't just tell him that I feel the same way, not without thinking it over. There's too much to consider._

Scared now that what they could have might never even begin, he began to worry about what to say, how to tell his father and how to reply; and, immediately, the gravity of the situation overwhelmed him. He was stuck between duty and love—yes, he thought, he might as well admit it to himself—and the position was impossible to navigate.

He closed his eyes, pressing at his temples and taking a deep breath. If only he knew what to do. For all intents and purposes, he knew what he _ought _to do: he should play the part of the ever-dutiful Crown Prince and turn Yao down for the sake of his future throne and the future security of Wakoku. But in the past year he had discovered (or maybe been reminded) that he was not just a prince, he was a person too. It was Yao who had cultivated and overseen this finding, nurturing it when the need arose and reminding him to allow it to grow.

_When, _he recalled Yao saying, _was the last time you did something purely because you wanted to do it, without thinking of your station or your country? _

It had been that phrase alone that had started this mental revolution, as he had realised that Yao was completely and utterly correct. Now, the words settled heavily on his mind as he thought, at the forefront of his thinking. He wanted desperately to give a little and be himself, but the fact was that the country meant so much more than he did. And yet… he could not imagine what living up to his duty would mean: accepting a stranger, probably a noblewoman from a high-ranking family, as his wife, having a child solely for the purpose of creating an heir… What sort of life would that prove to be, not only for himself, but also for his would-be family? Instead, another rational part of his mind told him to say yes. Happy with Yao, he would be happy in himself, and a happy ruler was usually a good one.

A small part of him knew what he ought to simply give Yao a white flower, and be done with it. He could, if it came to it, give Yao a white flower and yet still tell him how he felt. But that decision felt wrong; wrong and unfair. He loved Yao so much. Yao had come to consume him entirely; preoccupying his thoughts and even having infiltrated into his dreams. Not only had Yao simply befriended him and taken a genuine interest in him, he had listened to him and his concerns, taken them seriously, offered his advice and his criticisms, and loved him despite his many flaws. And among other things, he was sensitive: Kiku remembered how tense he had been when talking about how his family had lost their lives in the civil war in his homeland; how sad he had been for so long. Looking back on it, seeing Yao's quiet recollections of tragedy had been terrible, and Kiku never wanted to see him sad again. Refusing his affections would break both their spirits.

He stayed silent for several minutes, eyes shut and head pounding. _The only reason you're hesitating, _that voice said again, _is because you want to say yes. You want to be with him, don't you?_

_Oh, _he thought, putting his head on his arms. _There could be nothing I want more. _How wonderful it would be, to wake up beside him and to spend every minute of every day with him.

Drained and weary, Kiku retreated to his bed, holding to images of those dreams and treasuring them deeply. But once there, he could not sleep, and tossed and turned for many hours before finally succumbing to exhaustion. Even then, Yao haunted his dreams, with a blinding smile that he could simply not forget.

* * *

When he woke, his father was sitting beside his bedside. His first thought was that his father had inevitably seen the flower, and this he realised with a sharp burst of dread, which served to wake him up all the faster; and he also registered that it was late in the morning, and sunlight streamed through the open paper door, allowing him to see through to the gardens. He had never slept in so late before, but having had an early start, a day full of busy festivities, and a confession so worryingly difficult, maybe it was to be expected. He sat up, bones falling naturally into place, and greeted his father with both a welcome and an apology, then bowed, and waited for the onslaught of unavoidable questions.

Instead of demanding to know who had given him the flower (as if it wasn't obvious) and how, his father stood up and took the wind chime from the table, looking at it with a distant, unreadable expression. Kiku kept his eyes on his _shikibuton _and suppressed the mounting sense of anxiety that had been growing in him since he awoke. "Let's hang this up, shall we?" his father said, surprising him entirely. He had expected dissatisfaction, maybe even slight anger, but certainly not this.

His father crossed the room to stand on the veranda, and looked back at him, as though expecting him to follow. "E-Excuse me, father?" he asked, still confused as to what his father meant. Again, his father motioned for him to approach him, and Kiku did so accordingly.

"If you have a gift as lovely as this," his father said, taking the brightly coloured string and looping it around the wooden beam of the veranda. "It would be a shame to not use it. Did your friend get you this, also?"

Kiku stiffened at the use of 'friend' and at the subtle hint that his father had indeed seen his flower. Whether 'friend' was a subtle expression of fatherly disapproval at his previous comments that Yao was no more to him, Kiku did not know, and he could not suspect one way or the other. "It's very nice," his father continued, and Kiku softened.

"I didn't know he was going to give me a flower," Kiku said, and wondered why it sounded like an excuse or an apology. His father secured the wind chime by looping it around again, and turned to look at him.

"Even if you had have known," his father remarked, leaving the wind chime a full head higher than Kiku's own. "Would you have stopped him from doing so?"

"No," he replied wistfully, some moments later. "No, I don't think I would have." He looked out onto the gardens distantly, only absently taking in the fact that it was a lovely day, with fluffy white clouds and warm rays of sun.

His father retreated into the room, sitting at the low table where the carnation was placed, looking a little worse for wear with its overnight stay in his room. Kiku joined him, and a serving girl brought in tea, very tactfully not lingering on and not commenting on the flower between them. "And what are you going to do?" his father said when she had gone, studying him carefully. Kiku shut his eyes, feeling the worries and concerns return full-fold.

"I don't know," he said, swallowing a sigh. "I just don't know. I…" he stopped a shudder and bowed low to his father, sorry before him. "I know I have my duty, but I love him, father."

He waited for some response, but there was only the sound of the teacup being placed back onto the table. Then his father cleared his throat, once, and Kiku sat up, still keeping his eyes on the floor. "I am sorry, father. I must have disappointed you."

"There is nothing wrong with loving someone, Kiku," his father said, and Kiku caught a glimpse of him holding the carnation up to the light. "You have not disappointed me. You have both taken your time and not acted inappropriately. I see no reason for you to feel shame; nor any reason why you should not tell him you reciprocate his feelings."

"Father, I… What about," he felt himself blushing at the topic and decided to word it differently, "the future of our family?"

"You have cousins," his father replied, still admiring the flower. "If they too, neglect to marry or cannot produce an heir, _then_ I would ask of you what I know you would consider unthinkable, but that remains to be seen. Why should you not spend your days with him?"

Kiku felt small pockets heated relief and long-standing but unvoiced adoration for his father. "I thought you would…"

"What?" His father said, watching him warmly. "Be angry? Despise you? No, of course not. You are my son, and, though we both have many responsibilities, I do wish for your happiness; and I have seen that he has made you very happy indeed. To my regret, I have not been able to observe how, but I have noticed how much you have grown."

Kiku took a moment to reflect as well. At the beginning of the year he had been a shut-away, confined to his quarters and the cool cloisters of the Imperial Palace, for reasons that seemed distant and unimportant now. Yao had been everything: the instigator of all those changes, the anchor he could hold steadfast to, the motivation for them. _Everything. _"Father, are you saying you approve of him?"

His father looked pointedly at the wind chime, and without him having to speak, Kiku understood. _He would not have said those things if he did not. _"You have placed duty before yourself many a time, my son," he said, leaning back on his heels. "I should like to see more of a balance in you."

A smile spread on his father's face. "Now, if you are going to tell him how you feel, you are going to have need of a flower, are you not? How about a walk in the gardens?"

* * *

Three days later and Kiku's heart had barely stopped singing with joy. _Dear Yao. _Everything was perfect, though the euphoria tended to affect him at odd times. He would wake up suddenly in the night, consumed by dreams of warmth, and be unable to rest for the next hour or so; he would find himself daydreaming in court, much to most people's amusement and endearment; and he found himself so lost in happiness that he had subconsciously ended up taking the route to Yao's quarters on at least three occasions.

But when they were finally reunited at the festival in the evening, it was surprisingly awkward between them, for there was recognition of unrequited love and unresolved tensions between them, and neither of them knew how to deal with it. Deep-rooted affection and ever-growing adoration marked their actions, and more than once Yao took his hand, as though by accident. It was on one of these occasions that he realised what he was doing, and hurriedly apologised.

"I'm sorry," he said, and made to move away. Kiku reluctantly let him go, imprinting the memory of his warm hands and long fingers into his mind.

"Please don't apologise," he said, weaving closer to him anyway, as though to reaffirm it was alright. Having his hand held was reassuring and intimate, and for some reason it made the now-familiar sight of the city below the Imperial Palace's hill even more beautiful. It was evening now, and the sun was just setting over the mountains in the distance, the tangy colour of molten metal spreading over the sky. In the distance, the _Shimanto _river was a black band of obsidian; in the foreground it was a precious indigo. The rest of the sky was pale cobalt, and the faintest of stars had just appeared in the twilight. The sounds of the lazy crickets hung in the air, repetitive and familiar, making it hotter than it was.

Yao walked next to him, in a pale green _hitatare _that Kiku thought suited him very nicely, and for the first time in a long time they walked in silence. A year ago they had walked this path as acquaintances, the other way, towards the Imperial Palace. After having lost his family in the civil war and washing up at the Bay of Bells, Yao had been placed under his care, and they had walked this way, but back up towards the Palace. It was here that Yao had first divulged to him these memories, and here where he had first openly spoken about life in his homeland. Before that, he had only responded to Kiku's gently probing questions, and even then in controlled snippets. He wondered if Yao now felt able to consider Wakoku a home. He hoped that that was the case. He wanted Yao to be happy, and a big part of that was having a home, he knew.

And here they were, in love.

He had been hanging back a little, wanting to look at Yao's broad back. But now they were approaching the city, and he would have to catch up, to prevent being separated. They walked side by side to the Central Plaza, and Kiku tried to ignore the fact that some people had already gifted their return flowers to their partners. Was he too late to give his, too? But here was such a public place, and though he was certainly more open than he had been a year ago, this was too sensitive a matter to reveal in public.

Rather than spend the whole day in the city, as they would have had to do so without each other's company, they had decided to come down in the evening and watch the fireworks display before heading back. Kiku had wanted to give Yao the flower, which was tucked safely away in his sleeve, in the same manner as Yao had given him his, but some part of him felt that that would be unoriginal and untrue to himself. He had decided to give Yao a camellia, uninspired though it was, and he had selected a very beautiful one in an attempt to restore some meaning to it. But he was sincere, and he hoped that Yao would recognise that.

There was a ripple of activity and they pricked up, for the firework displays were about to begin. "Oh," Kiku said, recognising the faction that was starting the competition. "Oh, you'll like these, they're ever so good," he said, and smiled at Yao in enthusiasm. In a hiss of smoke, rockets and simple fireworks took off, bursting into light above the canals. "They start small," Kiku said, looking up at the sky. "Then they get bigger, and even better."

"It's pretty similar to the other night, so far," Yao remarked, and Kiku nodded in agreement.

"It'll get better, I promise. And we can go back up the hill, to watch from there," he suggested, thinking of the quiet and not well-known spot that he had been to on many an occasion when seeking quiescence. "I know a really nice place."

And so the show went on: there were fizzes and pops and bangs, oranges and reds and greens, flashes and screams and booms, and people 'oohed' and 'aahed' and even jumped in surprise as the fireworks grew in intensity and pace. Kiku experienced the explosions deep in his stomach and, occasionally, nervously and instinctively latched onto Yao's forearm. Never once did Yao frown or pull away, and never once did he tease. Yao felt the fireworks in his chest, to the point where he wondered if the near continuous beat and sound of explosions would ever stop. But then the fireworks slowed down, and Kiku spoke: "they're preparing for the bigger ones, if you want to move."

"Sorry?" Yao yelled in reply, over the roar of the crowd and the now smaller bursts.

"Do you want to go?" Kiku tried to raise his voice, and Yao leant closer to him to hear. "If you want to go, we can get a good view of the bigger displays."

"Oh, sure," Yao replied, and they turned and left the crowded plaza, fighting their way through the sea of people. At the city's outskirts, they finally got a moment's respite from the crowd and from the noise, and revelled in the peace and quiet. The journey up the hill was similar, quiet and contemplative, with the last echoes of the crowd still audible.

They trekked across the hill, the grass around their feet reaching up to their ankles. As they walked, grandiose displays of mastery showed themselves; the sky lit up in a sea of white, in the middle of which a red circle blossomed, creating the nation's flag. Then a tropical fish appeared in the sky, carefully positioned so that the moon was its eye, and its tail made from whooshing fireworks, to give it the appearance of movement. Eventually they found the spot, from which one could see the majority of the city. They sat down in silence, closer together than usual. Somehow Kiku's head found Yao's shoulder, and Yao's hand found his waist, and they sat like that, both privately more interested in the other's breathing than they were the spectacular fireworks.

Kiku risked peeking at Yao's face. The other was staring determinedly ahead, trying not to make him aware of their intimate position. And then Kiku was struck with an idea; an idea which was also a longing so deep that he had not noticed for so long. Slowly, shyly, and very grateful for the fact that Yao remained looking ahead, Kiku kissed his cheek. He felt his lips, dry and stiff, graze across Yao's skin, and Yao looked at him, stunned, stunned but delighted and so overwhelmingly happy that Kiku thought he might burst. He took the flower out from his sleeve and offered it to him, bowing.

"I—I can't promise this forever," he explained, repeating what his father had told him. "But I promise my love while I can. I…" he choked back a small sob as Yao took the blossom and sat it in his lap, choosing instead to hold both his hands. "There aren't words to tell you how much I love you," he continued, Yao's thumbs stroking the backs of his hands. "I could be faced with the decision between paradise and you and I'd still choose you. It's selfish of me, but I can't have just dreams of you. I want to stay with you, I want to sleep with you and wake up with you, I want to see you go somewhere and feel everything again as I wait for you, I want to live every moment with you in my heart, and…"

Then Yao's hands were on his neck, cupping his face, and Yao's lips met his own. His eyes, teary and desperate, opened in surprise and slid shut in relief and happiness and joy. He felt his cheeks burn as Yao's lips, warm and wet and smooth powerfully but lovingly captured his own, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. They very, very reluctantly drew away, returning to steal more, giddy on kisses and on love and on each other.

"I promise," Kiku said, as they entwined their fingers and locked their hands, "to love you always. Even if I cannot be with you always, I will love you till the end of my days."

Yao looked at him, restored and pensive and whole. Here was this precious person, this quiet enigma, this ruler in the making, this compassionate helper, who said he loved him endlessly. Yao thought back to the very first time they had met, and how distant Kiku had been. They had travelled a long way since then. He looked at Kiku and gave his hand a squeeze. "I believe you."

"Yao-san?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm so glad you came here."

Yao looked at him again. There had been no selfishness in the words, no malice, just gratitude; eternal, overwhelming gratitude. And he kissed Kiku in the moonlight once more, and said:

"So am I, my love. So am I."

* * *

Terms and notes:

Please note that it was very difficult to find clear, concrete information on this particular dress, so there may be some inaccuracies both in these notes and in the story. I have cross-referenced the military officer's version of this outfit with the Crown Prince's version, and tried to find common features. Some of the details—colours, embroidered patterns—are more fitting for a Prince.

For the first part of the Festival of Flowers, Kiku is dressed in a _sokutai, _which refers to a formal, ceremonial style of dressing. A _kanmuri, _a hat with a long strip of material that looks a bit like a high ponytail, is worn. It is decorated with chrysanthemums. A white pair of _ueno-hakama _with a red edge is worn. This is embroidered with flowers, usually hollyhocks. A _ketteki no hou _serves as the main layer of the outfit. This is orangey-red in colour and is embroidered (with Mandarin ducks, I think). A _sekitai,_ a black belt, ties it back, and is only visible from the back of the outfit. Underneath the _ketteki no hou, _a white _shitagasane, _embroidered with hollyhocks, and a maroon _akome _(also embroidered with hollyhocks) are worn. There is also a long, white, embroidered train.

_Kokeshi _= wooden dolls depicting people, usually girls. They have a cylindrical body (no arms, no legs) and a spherical head. These parts are then painted with different designs.

_Kimekomi _= clothed wooden dolls, usually with wigs.

_Samurai_ = lots of things, but essentially nobility of a military class and attendants to higher-up nobles.

_Hanafuda _= packs of flower-based cards. There are forty-eight in total (and sometimes a blank forty-ninth card). Each month is represented by four cards with the month's flower on them; e.g. April is represented by wisteria flowers, so there are four cards with wisteria on them. Yao's flower refers to the peony, which represents June (the month when the Festival takes place) and is associated with China. The peony is said to mean 'bravery' in Japanese _hanakotoba, _'prosperity and honour' in Chinese, and 'shame' in other contexts of 'flower meanings'.

Incidentally, the chrysanthemum is the flower representing September. It has many meanings. A golden chrysanthemum is the symbol of the Japanese Imperial Family, and in _hanakotoba _a white one may symbolise truth. In Chinese meanings, it symbolises nobility, and is one of the 'four gentleman flowers'. However, the chrysanthemum is also strongly linked to ideas of mourning and death.

_Agemochi_ = fried mochi, usually eaten lightly salted/spiced.

_Takoyaki _= a famous street food. Pieces of octopus (usually) are cooked inside balls of wheat-flour, served coated in a sauce, and then sprinkled with tuna and seaweed.

Camellia blossoms have many meanings within _hanakotoba; _they can mean 'longing', 'waiting', or 'in love'; and outside of Japanese meanings, the camellia japonica can mean 'unpretending excellence.'

Carnations in _hanakotoba_ suggest fascination, distinction, and love; while outside of Japanese meanings, it means a deep romantic love.

Morning glories in _hanakotoba_ mean strong promises; and outside of Japanese meanings, they mean 'love in vain'.

_Kyougen _= a type of play that was traditionally performed between the acts of _Nou _plays. _Nou_ plays would last all day, but _kyougen _were much shorter, and often simple, exaggerated, and humorous. All the actors were men, including those playing female roles. The play Kiku and Yao are watching is called _The Fortified Beard, _and tells the story of a man who has a long, thick beard, of which he is very proud. He is chosen to take part in an important festival. His wife will not do anything he asks of her, and so he sends her away, but she, along with the other women of the village, return and cut it off, breaking through the fortifications he has built around it.

_Hitatare _= apparently the common dress in the Kamakura to Muromachi period. When adopted by nobles and warriors, patterns were embroidered into it.

_Kakigouri _= shaved ice sweetened with various toppings/flavourings. Traditionally, a machine with a hand crank was used to shave the ice.

_Dango _= Similar to _mochi, dango _are balls of rice flour with different flavours.

_Bocchan dango _= three _dango_ on a skewer: the first is flavoured and coloured with red beans, the second with eggs, and the third by green tea. I _think_ they can be eaten all year round. If I'm wrong, please let me know!

_Goma dango_ = _dango_ with sesame seeds.

_Warabimochi _= bracken starch jelly covered/dipped in sweet soy flour.

_Amanattou _= red beans simmered in syrup and covered in sugar. These really look too good.

_Yatsuhashi_ = strips of rice flour, sugar, and a flavouring, usually cinnamon. When baked, they have the texture of rice crackers (_senbei_), but raw _yatsuhashi_ can be wrapped around red bean paste and eaten.

_Imagwayaki_ = a popular festival food that consists of red bean paste in a sponge-type outside.


End file.
